A few nights ago, I slept 5 straight hours without getting up once.
This might not seem like a big deal, but it has been years since that has happened. At least 10. Maybe more.
I am pining for that night because insomnia has been kicking my ass since then. Last night, I slept in 20 minute increments.
There are a number of reasons for this.
First, my brain insists we do a rhyming thing when we wake up at midnight.
It’s frustrating and it is dumb, but if I don’t play along, my brain is just going to keep nagging.
Last night, for instance, when my bladder told me to get out of bed for the third time before midnight, I thought “crimping”.
No. No no no no. Could we not? Please.
Is blimping a word? I don’t think so. Crimping, scrimping, limping.
Then work anxiety pops in for a quick chat.
“Oh, hey, yeah…so that credit card system change that has been looming over your head for five fucking years is going to happen. Soon! Good luck!”
So then I have to go through the “what we would do should the very worst thing happen.” Worst thing being that I no longer have an income and we have no health insurance. The thought of this terrifies me.
Bucking, clucking ducking, fucking, hucking, wait is that a word? mucking.
Joey took a new job, he works weird hours where he could come home any time between 2:00am and 5:00am. This works out so nicely for me because when I can’t sleep, I have a super easy go-to for my nightly anxiety and that is “Is Joey home? Shouldn’t he be home by now? He’s fine. Just stop. But seriously, he should be home by now.”
If it were just my brain attacking me, I think I’d be okay.
Sooner or later, it does give up and quiet down. But it’s not just my brain. My old lady hormones pick up the slack. My weirdly nocturnal bladder quiets down, my brain stops rhyming for two goddamn minutes and all is well.
And then I catch on fire.
Hot flashes are the devil.
So, then I’m awake.
Primping, pimping, limping
The ceiling fan does a pretty good job of stopping the sweat and then making me freeze to death. But that’s okay. Not being on fire is amazing.
Of course, this is also the time of night that Alfie the kitty goes from aloof to needy.
I do love it when he comes to snuggle, but he likes to back us butt up into my armpit and lay his head on my arm. Which is adorable. Unless I’m in the middle of a hot flash. Then his fur kind of sticks to my sweat and it is fairly horrifying. But still, kitty cuddles.
Totally worth it, even though I’ve been awake for at least 45 minutes, the alarm is going off in two hours, and I have to go back to work.
Where the credit card job looms.
I do sleep, though. Of course I do.
I slept last night, at least a little.
I dreamed that I accidentally dropped a bowl of salsa all over the owner of the company I work for. His white shirt was ruined. But fortunately I woke up because I had to pee.
Should I just go ahead and give up on my fantasy that I still have at least one full, uninterrupted night of sleep in front me?
Or should I just plan on sleep when I’m dead?