Me and sleep? We’ve got a difficult relationship.
I know people who can sleep long, hard and late. I envy them.
It started in my early 40s, when insomnia hit hard. I’d wake in the middle of the night counting down the hours until I had to go to work and obsess about being sleep deprived.
Toss. Turn. Obsess. Repeat.
For some reason, I couldn’t get back to sleep in my comfortable bed. I’d lounge on the sofa and if I was lucky, fall back to sleep there for a little while with my (now dearly departed) cat, Beeboo.
Insomnia’s stuck with me ever since.
I can get to sleep easily, usually around 9:30 p.m.
But most nights I just don’t stay there more than five or six hours.
Or, like last night: hardly at all.
In my 20s and 30s I’d fall asleep around 11 p.m. and start my day at 7 am., but in the years since I’ve become an early-to-bed, waaay-too-early-to-rise girl. Way too early.
Go to bed later, you suggest?
I still wake up the same time, with even less sleep.
Take sleeping meds to stay down longer? Lunesta and all the sleep drugs scare me.
As much as I like an occasional benzo or smoke,
I’m reticent about taking meds that are new to me.
Since I’m retired, you’d think power naps would be a solution.
Just an hour, midday. After all, what else do I have to do?
But no, I don’t often nap.
I don’t want to lose those mid-day hours when I could be…what?
Reading? Watching a movie? Shopping? Seeing friends? Even just hanging out feeling exhausted.
All of those things.
It’s almost like deep down, I think sleep’s a waste of time.
Oh, hell, no “almost” about it, it IS what I think.
I can’t wait to start the day.
Sometimes, when I’m programming the coffeemaker for morning,
I find myself wishing I could just skip the night and start my day then.
I’m like a kid:
Each new day is like a gift that I can’t wait to unwrap.
I’d just like to feel less sleep-deprived.