Sleep. I’ve come to realize when I need it, its elusive, like Big Foot or Loch Ness.
When I would really like to stay awake I’m pretty much out with zero chance of not drooling on myself.
It is evenings in particular that I find myself alone, with a workday ahead in the morning, that I can’t seem to fall asleep. Nights I need my rest to function when the sun rises. The nights I can take up the entire bed, pile all the pillows under my head and wrap myself burrito style in our blankets without anyone complaining.
These are the nights I can not convince my body to go to f*cking sleep.
I tried turning the air conditioner on, apparently a cooler room helps you sleep. It’s not helping. Someone probably made that crap up so their lovers body would be as near theirs as possible for warmth. I’m just smothered by bed covers, my cheeks are cold and I’m being assaulted by blanket burrowing dogs.
I tried to watch TV, no go. It’s not safe to venture there. There is nothing on the DVR I won’t end up binge watching a marathon season of.
I tried to lay still and breath deeply, clearing my mind. Next thing I knew I was thinking about whether my love had text me back and then I had to check my phone. Deep breathing mission aborted for the opportunity to digitally flirt.
I would try warm milk but then I’d want cookies too. I need to look amazing on the beach for vacation in just over a week. No milk, no cookies.
I might even consider taking some sort of sleep aid but then I likely would not wake refreshed. Or my luck, ever. Everyone knows that’s a terrible plan, even for those of us who don’t operate heavy machinery.
I have reached an age where I require more than 5-6 hours of snooze time or everyone I come into contact with the next day will suffer the consequences. It’s just not pretty any way you look at it and I don’t just mean the bags under my eyes.
Worst of all is my magical ability to pass out cold snuggled into my love at any given time. This little trick happens regardless of any plans we may have had that didn’t involve sleeping.
It’s a curse really. When I’m alone there is zero chance of sleep and when I’d rather enjoy her company I’m out in minutes.
To make it all worse it just so happens we work opposite schedules. This means we spend 1/2 of our nights separated. It’s awful and should somehow be illegal.
Maybe the next time I can’t sleep I’ll Google it.
Alas. Here I am thinking about what I should wear to work tomorrow…
and what we might do this weekend…
and whether my kid had me sign his homework …
and whether anyone fed the dogs tonight …
It’s a glamorous life I’m living. Especially when I should be snoozing.
My Idiotic Bliss 