Sleep and Me: A Toxic Relationship
CeCe's Musings
#2: Sleep. Sleep. Sleep
Oh, Sleep. You’re such a tease. You gift me two decent night’s and then, bam, you jerk my eyes open at 3:00 am. It’s such a dysfunctional relationship we have. I need you, but you’re an asshole. I blame myself. What am I doing wrong? You take no responsibility for my exhaustion, yet I can’t give you up. You seem to revel in messing with me.
When I was younger, you and I were pals. I could sleep anytime, anywhere: on the blue shag rug in our sunroom, in the backseat between my fidgety siblings, on a paper-thin dorm room mattress, in class while a teacher droned on about the War of 1812. I could take a deep fifteen minute nap before my shift at Monical’s Pizza. I even snoozed during my prep period in a costume closet. Back then, you were my friend.
Motherhood, stress, and aging changed my relationship with you. Sleep, you are no longer a friendly partner in my life. You are my nemesis. You poke and provoke me, but unlike a bad boyfriend, I can’t break up with you. Nope. I need you. Long for you. Pray for you. “Sleep!” I cry, “Why are you so cruel? Why do I put up with your bad behavior? Oh, yea, because without you I’m a frazzled mess.”
I do everything. Silence my phone. Drink herbal tea. Meditate. Turn down the bedroom temperature. Make the bed with clean cotton sheets and darken the room. I may have a few good nights. I wake up invigorated, but then the next night, damn, there you are again, whispering, “Yup, you’re going to be awake now for the next two hours. Let’s ruminate on everything. So fun.”
Sleep, Sleep, Sleep. You are an annoying necessity. I love you. I hate you. You’re delightful. You’re rude. You’re an angel. You’re a bi-polar monster.
Oh, Sleep, would you please be my friend again? We’ll go bike riding and play Barbies and listen to the 45 record of The Archies singing “Sugar, Sugar.” Later, we’ll pass out in my bubblegum pink childhood bedroom. It will be like old times.
Come on, Sleep. You know you love me.
