I don’t sleep. I have insomnia. And before some jackass says “oh, you must get soooo much done,” think about how YOU get after pulling an all-nighter. Do YOU feel like doing work, cleaning the kitchen, or anything useful? It’s all I can do to stop myself from ordering a pizza.
I still try to go to bed. If I actually fall asleep, I’ll stay asleep. Of course my husband likes to go to bed at a ridiculously early hour (anything before midnight), and so I try to go to bed with him. You know, for solidarity, ritual, to be supportive. Of course, after already being awake for three days, you tend to get slap happy and good intentions go out the door.
Some times he senses me right away. Sometimes it takes a while. That’s one thing that insomnia gives you in large quantities: time. If the stare down doesn’t work, I’ve been known to take a single hair and place it on his nose. Or to
lightly poke his nipples give him a sensual massage. Whatever does the job. Because if I can’t sleep, it seems grossly unfair that he can. Not that I keep him up all night. Just 30 minutes or so. You know, until he’s about ready to kill me.
You may feel sorry for my husband. I do not. The man takes naps like a preschooler. And, more importantly, he contributes to my lack of sleep. Well, he and my dog. It goes something like this:
And my dog isn’t the only one to let out noxious fumes…I’m just giving my husband the illusion of dignity here. Which is more than I can say for ME at three in the morning, when I crawl out of bed assuming that I’m dying from mustard gas. Isn’t that a great way to start your day? Because once I’m awake, I’m not going back to sleep no matter how much I plead with the gods. WHich is why I’m here. God, I really need to find a doctor who will prescribe me better sleep meds…