 |
| here's me. not sleeping. |
Things got better for a while, thanks to my good friend
Southern Comfort. I was able to break
through whatever it was keeping me awake and actually get some real rest at
night. Whatever cycle I had been
experiencing was over, apparently.
At least, that's what I thought.
It was a Sunday like many other Sundays. The cars started. It rained but we didn't get
water in our basement. The dog didn’t
run away. Dinner was good. Nothing earth shattering.
However, Sunday night around 10:30 p.m., my husband and I
kissed each other good night, as we always do, cuddled for approximately 10.7
seconds until it got wayyyy too hot, and then turned over to our respective
spots. I hadn't even given my
sleeplessness a thought. I burrowed
further into the covers.
And laid there. A
half hour went by. I knew my husband was
awake. He knew I was awake too because
he says my eyes make a sound when I blink.
We laid there some more.
And laid there. Another half hour
went by and…
…we’re still awake.
And I’m thinking, what the hell?
I get up and pee to break the monotony. I am quiet and careful, reluctant to jostle my
husband or bounce the bed. I know where
the squeaky floorboards are and avoid them, drawing on years of experience with
fretful babies and a father who worked midnights. I don't use any lights, even in the bathroom. I climb back into bed with the stealth of a
ninja.
Having taken care of that, I snuggle back down. I think, any
time now I’ll fall fast asleep. I
close my eyes and try to count sheep but end up mentally composing a story
about them instead.
I hear my son come in at midnight. He doesn't wake me up because I'm not
asleep. He knows after years of sneaking
in how to hold the bells on the door so they don't make a noise when he opens
it. He too is familiar with the
floorboards and is able to avoid the squeaky ones. He pees and goes to bed.
Now my husband
gets up to pee. He is not silent and
careful like I am. He was a bachelor for
45 years and never had to be quiet for a sleeping wife or child. Everyone knows he's up because he uses every
light he can on the endless ten foot trip to the bathroom. He has owned the home longer than my children
have drawn breath and yet doesn't know the path to take on the wooden boards to
avoid making excess noise.
He stomps back to our room and swings himself back into bed
like an orangutan, then proceeds to thrash around on the bed trying to get
comfortable. Good God, I think. He moves more than a kid in a bouncy house.
Unbelievable. I wait
until he is settled and I blink several times in a row, loudly, in retaliation.
Shortly after he gets back to bed, my daughter is up. She has
inherited her mother's ability to walk catlike in a sleeping household. She also has inherited her mother's sneakiness
and I know she's going outside to have a cigarette. She is fooling no one. She
too knows to hold the bells on the door as she comes back in and creeps back to
her room, stopping in the bathroom, also to pee.
Ok, I think. Now
that we’ve all ensured there would be no bedwetting, we’ll all get to sleep.
Husband whispers to me.
"Are you awake?"
I whisper back. "Yes, what’s
the deal with this? I’m so tired and I
just can’t fall asleep! Is there some
giant geometry test I didn’t study for?
A project I didn’t turn in? Because
the only time I can’t sleep is when I’m fretting. And for the life of me, I don’t have anything
to really fret about."
Husband whispers again. "I
can’t sleep either! And I think Annie is
smoking!"
No shit, Sherlock, I think. Only for like six months now. Out loud, I say, "Gosh, I hope not."
And then I think, why are we
whispering, anyway? We're all awake.
During the course of the sleepless
night from hell, husband ends up sleeping in the living room on his chair. I must be experiencing some sort of
menopausal symptoms, as I am either freezing or too hot, and eventually make my
own way out to the living room as well where I lay wide eyed on the couch for
two hours, with a floor fan three inches from my face.
4:41 a.m. I haven’t slept at all. I briefly drift off and dream I'm in a wind
tunnel.
4:42 a.m. Husband turns on a new age music channel on
cable. It reminds me of the nightmare
that was his deviated septum surgical recovery and I fight the urge to throw
up.
5:00 a.m. We should probably just stay up. However, I don't come from a family of
quitters. I get up and stumble down the
hallway to the much more comfortable bed and that's all I remember, because I sink
into the most blissful sleep anyone has ever experienced.
For about one hour. It's not enough. I'm so tired and frustrated I want to punch
someone. However, it is at this time I smell
fresh coffee.
