About sleep. I'm not very good at it.
Blame it on my prehistoric ancestors. They probably didn’t get eight hours either. This biphasic sleep cycle of mine must be hard-wired. Any effort I make to move towards uninterrupted clock time seems futile. Speaking of clock time… it’s 2 am. Again.
So, I’m lying in bed thinking (something one should never do). Why is it such a noisy place between my ears?
Okay. Quiet the mind.
Think clouds. Think of fallen leaves floating away in a stream.
Wait, it’s thinking that got me here in the first place!
Okay. Stop thinking and just breathe.
In through the nose; out through the mouth.
Now, curl those toes. Relax.
Calves next. Squeeze tightly! Relax.
Thighs, buttocks, forearms, hands. Re-ee-lax.
I SAID RELAX!
So much for progressive muscle relaxation.
Next.
I finally decided to get out of bed. It’s what all those so-called sleep experts recommend for middle-of-the-night awakenings. Because the bed is for sleeping. And if you’re not, you’re supposed to get up!
I shuffle into the spare room and grab a book from the bookcase. I have no idea what I’ve grabbed because I refuse to turn the overhead light on for fear I might suppress what’s left of any nocturnal secretions of melatonin. Just give me something to read — anything but Elon Musk’s biography! I chose one at random that I must’ve gotten from one of my mother’s dusty old book boxes from the ‘50s by Daphne du Maurier. I recognize the author’s name mostly because some of her stories were turned into movies, including two of Hitchcock’s greatest: The Birds and Rebecca.
I crack open the cover. The crack is audible. And it smells like old book. The pages have turned brown and fragile and the print is super small. The first story is titled “Monte Verità”. It’s a love triangle that includes a sect of moon-worshipping beings who lure young women up to their mountain monastery to become ageless and sexless, never to return to this world. Yeah, it’s cultish and mystical and psychological. I like it, but it’s a long-ish short story and it’s now 3 am! Time to get off this mountain and head back to base camp where I fall into a sort of sleep state that feels more like a slow awakening to 4:30 am.
Today, I finished reading “Monte Verità,” but I think I may need new prescription eyewear. Geez that print is small. But I like this author’s flair for gothic themes and the supernatural so I’ve moved on to her next long short story, “The Apple Tree” – a marital revenge tale bordering on the supernatural. I love a spooky tree and a vengeful woman, don’t you?
It’s the afternoon now and, as usual, I’m finding it hard to stay awake after lunch. When the sofa is calling, I try to get outside, go to the light, or pull out the vacuum. I say to myself Do not succumb. Works most days. Except it’s today and this book feels like a blanket. I’m going to wrap it around me and… Zzz.
I went out this evening to spend time with friends. That meant I stayed up later than usual. Suddenly, I’ve missed my sleep window and gained a second wind. I know I’ll be up for hours now. Just sleep in tomorrow you say? But I’ve always been an early riser — up at 5 am regardless of what time I go to bed. I hate that about me. Please don’t tell me to “just sleep in” because I will hate that about you. Look, if I could, I would. Most days, there’s not much difference between waking up at 4:30 or 5:30 am for me — besides an hour. But when I’m still awake at midnight or later, it’s the difference between feeling completely dysfunctional versus just feeling a bit tired. I can do a bit tired.
And because I decided to go out and have a good time, it was back to the bookshelf to grab another dusty old favourite at random. And what do I pull out? L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
"And now my beauties, something with a little poison in it I think, with poison in it, but attractive to the eye and soothing to the smell… poppies… poppies… poppies will put them to sleep. Sle-ee-p. Now they'll sle-ee-p."
