There’s not an ounce of sleep in my 150 lb body. I’ve thrashed about and turned like a chicken on a spit. Hot then kicking off the covers, then chilled and wrapping myself like a burrito, hot and cold, hot and cold, never a happy medium. It’s enough to fracture sanity. All I want is sleep SSSLLLLEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP!
I’ve counted baby goats, in cute little wool sweaters, that frolic through my mind. I’ve breathed in, deep and long, then out nice and slow, calming breaths, but nothing seems to quiet the pounding surf of my thoughts. I hear my heartbeat in my head, like a loud drum, persistent and insistent, driving me crazy with its rhythm. I keep trying to find a position that quiets the roar between my ears; I think of Poe’s telltale heart, but mine is under the covers not the floor boards.
It’s 4:30 am. I’ve tried reading several times. Light on, light out, light on, light out, light on and light out. Usually my book quiets my brain. I read till my eyes close and the book drops which wakes me enough to place the bookmark and set the book on the bedside table and turn off the light. More times than not I can drift back into dreamland, but not tonight, those few short seconds of consciousness rev up my brain into over drive and I’m wide awake again. I’m frothing mad from courting sleep, she’s a fickle date, she won’t come across, conform to my desire.
I’ve been working on finding solutions to my problem. We bought $6.00 blackout curtains from the Giant Tiger on Tuesday. I was blown away at the price, the yardage of faux suede would have been more expensive to buy at the fabric store to sew myself and then having to buy and fiddle with large grommets makes me ponder how can they sell for such a nominal amount? The curtains kill the light but these questions kill my sleep.
The street light and several lights from the neighbour’s house bother me, keep the bedroom vivid and it burns into my brain through closed eyelids. Sometimes during a full moon the room is so illuminated I can almost read without the lamp on. Not good to sleep in a bright room, melatonin needs darkness to produce in the brain, the healing element that ironically helps you sleep. The room is black as pitch now but tonight it’s not working. Tonight I am as hyper as a cat on a hot tin roof with its tongue in a light socket.
My brain races around rehashing my day, my week, then plans I have for the studio, new designs, how the woodwork needs paint, what I’ll wear to work tomorrow, the growing pile of laundry I can no longer ignore, begging the question once again, what will I wear tomorrow; the apartment we have to get ready to rent, the leak in my studio that started after Wednesday’s rain, the faucet that might be going in our house kitchen, what we’ll have for dinner tomorrow night, the price of eggs, will I still have hair in 2020? It all tumbles through my thoughts like an out of control freight train.
So I got up, ate a few peanuts and hit the laptop. I yawn as I write which is pissing me off. If I’m that tired why don’t I sleep? A million dollar question for sure.
Earlier I turned on my phone and saw a lot of Facebook friends are up, the little green dot signalling they are online, some with different time zones so maybe it isn’t that late where they live, but others are close by. I guess we are all in the same boat, a middle of the night club of restless, middle aged, irritated and exhausted women. I wonder if Anne is still awake, is Deborah struggling again? We three seem to be in sync. Misery likes company, too bad we couldn’t get together, have a glass of wine and chat; be the tooth picks that hold each other’s eyes wide, instead of our own brains sabotaging and working against us.
Well I'm now too tired and stupid to think. I’m going back upstairs to give it another go. The pups are probably wondering what I’m doing downstairs. It’s almost 5:00 am; oh joy, only three hours till the alarm goes off. Time waits for no insomniac.
What a tough day it will be tomorrow, circles under the eyes and that vacant stare, stumbling over words as I try to form sentences like I'm drunk, tripping over my own feet and feeling ditsy, I mean dizzy. I won’t be behind the wheel of the car tomorrow; it’ll be Driving Miss Chrissy for hubby. It’s zombie land all over again.
I’ve counted baby goats, in cute little wool sweaters, that frolic through my mind. I’ve breathed in, deep and long, then out nice and slow, calming breaths, but nothing seems to quiet the pounding surf of my thoughts. I hear my heartbeat in my head, like a loud drum, persistent and insistent, driving me crazy with its rhythm. I keep trying to find a position that quiets the roar between my ears; I think of Poe’s telltale heart, but mine is under the covers not the floor boards.
It’s 4:30 am. I’ve tried reading several times. Light on, light out, light on, light out, light on and light out. Usually my book quiets my brain. I read till my eyes close and the book drops which wakes me enough to place the bookmark and set the book on the bedside table and turn off the light. More times than not I can drift back into dreamland, but not tonight, those few short seconds of consciousness rev up my brain into over drive and I’m wide awake again. I’m frothing mad from courting sleep, she’s a fickle date, she won’t come across, conform to my desire.
I’ve been working on finding solutions to my problem. We bought $6.00 blackout curtains from the Giant Tiger on Tuesday. I was blown away at the price, the yardage of faux suede would have been more expensive to buy at the fabric store to sew myself and then having to buy and fiddle with large grommets makes me ponder how can they sell for such a nominal amount? The curtains kill the light but these questions kill my sleep.
The street light and several lights from the neighbour’s house bother me, keep the bedroom vivid and it burns into my brain through closed eyelids. Sometimes during a full moon the room is so illuminated I can almost read without the lamp on. Not good to sleep in a bright room, melatonin needs darkness to produce in the brain, the healing element that ironically helps you sleep. The room is black as pitch now but tonight it’s not working. Tonight I am as hyper as a cat on a hot tin roof with its tongue in a light socket.
My brain races around rehashing my day, my week, then plans I have for the studio, new designs, how the woodwork needs paint, what I’ll wear to work tomorrow, the growing pile of laundry I can no longer ignore, begging the question once again, what will I wear tomorrow; the apartment we have to get ready to rent, the leak in my studio that started after Wednesday’s rain, the faucet that might be going in our house kitchen, what we’ll have for dinner tomorrow night, the price of eggs, will I still have hair in 2020? It all tumbles through my thoughts like an out of control freight train.
So I got up, ate a few peanuts and hit the laptop. I yawn as I write which is pissing me off. If I’m that tired why don’t I sleep? A million dollar question for sure.
Earlier I turned on my phone and saw a lot of Facebook friends are up, the little green dot signalling they are online, some with different time zones so maybe it isn’t that late where they live, but others are close by. I guess we are all in the same boat, a middle of the night club of restless, middle aged, irritated and exhausted women. I wonder if Anne is still awake, is Deborah struggling again? We three seem to be in sync. Misery likes company, too bad we couldn’t get together, have a glass of wine and chat; be the tooth picks that hold each other’s eyes wide, instead of our own brains sabotaging and working against us.
Well I'm now too tired and stupid to think. I’m going back upstairs to give it another go. The pups are probably wondering what I’m doing downstairs. It’s almost 5:00 am; oh joy, only three hours till the alarm goes off. Time waits for no insomniac.
What a tough day it will be tomorrow, circles under the eyes and that vacant stare, stumbling over words as I try to form sentences like I'm drunk, tripping over my own feet and feeling ditsy, I mean dizzy. I won’t be behind the wheel of the car tomorrow; it’ll be Driving Miss Chrissy for hubby. It’s zombie land all over again.
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