Woke up at 3 AM, got up to pee, staggered to and from the bathroom, crawled back into bed, fought with my pillow for 45 minutes and lost. Wound up in front of my computer too dazed and confused to face the World Wide Web, so I decided to blog. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, and it feels strange, like I’m a contestant on Dancing With the Stars only I’m not a star and I can’t dance (oh wait, that’s actually everyone on Dancing With the Stars). It feels especially strange in the middle of the night with only the hum of my computer and an Edger Allen Poe ticking sound emanating from the house somewhere. And I’ve been away so long something has happened to the Word Press formatting so I’m typing in plain text with random code popping up when I try to italicize. What’s up with that?
Usually I’m pretty good with the sleep thing. Truth is, I kind of love to sleep. Thick, dreamy, bottomless sleep. For someone whose primary coping mechanism is escape, what’s not to love? I hate missing sleep. I feel cheated out of something that I can never get back. It’s not the same to tack on a few hours the next night or to take a nap. It’s like missing the middle of a movie – if you watch that part the next day you experience the movie in a completely different way than if you watched it from start to finish.
You hear a lot about our relationship with food. How we nourish or abuse or fret or sabotage or indulge or languish over food. Magazine articles, books, talk shows, and therapists tell us how to work on our relationship with food in the same way we work on our relationship with lovers or parents or children or co-workers. But rarely do we hear about our relationship with sleep. Sleep is our mistress. Oh, she gets some attention from the health gurus and the mattress salesmen. But she definitely takes a backseat to food. Personally I would like to break up with food and start seeing sleep. Start talking about her with my friends and family. Buy her sexy lingerie and take her away for the weekend. Marry her, make her mine, grow old with her by my side and die before she does. Yep, I want the whole enchilada (oh wait, that’s my relationship with food creeping in).
It’s 5 AM. The alarm is set for 6. I have to either shower and get on with the day or go back for a few stolen moments with sleep. What would you do?