I may have mentioned Someone once or twice around here.
And a friend or two in the Blue Nowhere may have mentioned their curiosity about Someone.
I won't be satisfying that curiosity today.
However, I wouldn't have part of this blog post if it weren't for him. Read on.
I have occasional bouts of insomnia. Sometimes they don't last long, maybe a night or two. Sometimes I'll go years sleeping perfectly well, up to ten hours a night standard. I have no idea what triggers it. I know experts say stress, and I've certainly had a fair portion of that lately, both negative and positive. Usually, I ride it out for a day or two and get on with life.
Once in a while, though, the insomnia gets the better of me for weeks, maybe months, on end. I'm not talking about missing an hour or two a night - I'm talking about maybe getting an hour or two a night and feeling lucky to have it!
Once, many years ago, I went two months with almost no sleep at all. No kidding...I counted the hours I got each night/day (naps included) and for several weeks I managed maybe eight hours. For the week. You do the math.
In those worst of times, I didn't go out much - I was afraid to drive. I saw flashes of light and little squiggly lines crawling through my peripheral vision. Colors were all funny and even sound played games with me. No one much noticed a difference - I've always been a bubble off plumb, anyway.
Lately, I am not sleeping much at all.
Oh, I've tried to get to bed at a reasonable hour. I'll lie there, staring at the ceiling, at the walls, at anything but the clock. My mind will run around and around on its hamster wheel, and I'll wait for it to wind down. Hours pass, and there I lie.
Although I don't drink much by way of caffeinated beverages, I cut them when I'm bad off.
I don't watch TV in the bedroom, or read, when I'm sleepless. It becomes a shrine to the hope of sleep. Vain hope, that.
Eventually, I must give in to the inevitable - I am not going to sleep yet. I get up, turn on the TV in the living room, and clear the TiVo of cached shows. I write. I read. I lurk in the Blue Nowhere and pounce on new blog posts, writing comments that seem lucid in the moment but are scattershot after a bit of shuteye. I clean or crochet or read or research or play games online. I do these things until my eyes drift closed, then stumble down the hall hoping it's not a false alarm, that I really will go on to the land of nod, drift with Morpheus awhile.
It's usually around three-thirty in the morning when I'm abed.
And five or six mornings a week, without fail, I wake up a couple of hours later. Seemingly just after I sank into blessed sleep, I am fully awake. At five-thirty. Yay. Why? Not the dreams, although they have been odd, of late. Not a strange noise, and certainly not because I've had enough sleep and am ready to greet the sun. No. I blame Someone. I'm waking up just when he is rising in the morning. I am awake for a good half hour, just as he's getting ready for work. When he is walking out his door, I finally drift back to sleep.
It's a queer sort of synchronicity, and not intentional. I've just...synched up with him. I told him about this waking of mine, and he allowed that yes, indeed, I was waking when he was. I offered the opinion that he needs to work banker's hours so I can get more sleep. He laughed.
What makes this more amusing (and, despite an almost desperate need for slumber, I do laugh about it) is that he lives in another time zone, a good day's drive away from where I live - it's not like he's right next to me, waking me with his noise, his alarm clock, his morning busyness.
Usually, I can get back to sleep after a little while, but not for long. I'll wake once or twice an hour and it can take twenty to thirty minutes to go back to sleep. I have to be careful not to let my mind engage, shift into gear and start running hot and fast, or I'm sunk - no more sleep for a while. With any luck, I'll get to sleep until ten or so, and my cumulative sleep for the night will be four hours give or take.
Add to that the hour nap I might manage in the afternoon, and I am sitting (or sleeping) pretty - six hours total on a banner day!
Of course, I'm rarely that lucky. The phone rings. A cat meyowls. The Evil Genius wakes early and wants to cuddle (which actually means play, wrestle, and bruise Mommy's anatomy for an hour before scuttling off to find breakfast). Life, in short, demands I begin my day at a more regular hour than my lack of sleep would dictate. Life will have its way.
Only on his days off, when Someone gets to sleep in, do I manage a reasonable lot of uninterrupted zzzzzzz...
Huh, wha...? I wasn't dozing...I was studying the insides of my eyelids...
So obviously it's all his fault. Nothing to do with my misfiring neurons. All...Someone'szzzzz...
Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!
"...besides love, independence of thought is the greatest gift an adult can give a child." - Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One
For old quotes, look here.
For old quotes, look here.