sleep has never come easily to me. i’ve had to conjure it. had to play a mean game of hide and seek. once i found it, however, sleep was my bitch until she had been used hard and thrown in a corner. i’m finding the greatest frustration (so far) in getting older is i can’t fall asleep. if by some miracle of science (tylenol pm) i can fall asleep, i can not stay asleep. this is not good for anyone that i know, or may have occasion to encounter for that matter, as i am a girl who needs her sleep. i thought i had paid my dues to the sand man when i had a baby with colic. if anything is cumulative, i have a bunch of sleep coming my way from my college days.
i haven’t even begun to complain about the night sweats. i will take them if i could sleep through them. i wake up, usually btween 4 and 6, and have to peel myself off of the bed. i toddle over the bathroom (the minimum of 20 steps needed to not be entirely awake) and sit. instead of peeing and falling back into the abyss. i sit there thinking how unhygienic it is to get back into bed with that funk. i obsess about what the hell is happening in my body that it thinks it needs to purge my every last pore.
then, when i do crawl, gingerly, into the swamp that is my side of the bed, it is to the frustration of hearing stubby hubs hunk sawing enough wood to raise a barn. lucky bastard!
i have always been proud to be a woman. welcomed the responsibility of being the backbone of humanity. the only thing i have ever asked for in return was to be able to enjoy 8 full hours of oblivion a night. this whirling dervish needs to refuel.
so, if you could take care of that for me, i would be eternally grateful. k?