If only I could count sheep…

I don’t know about y’all, but I have a love/hate relationship with sleep. I love sleep when it happens. I hate the fact that it’s so difficult for me.

As I’m sure you’ve guessed, last night was rough. I fell asleep just fine, but then I woke up at 1:46 AM — I know because I checked my Fitbit, annoyed at the time — with two overpowering needs:

1) I needed to pee, and

2) I felt like I needed to look something up in the DSM. (The DSM, for those who are not familiar, is the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of the American Psychological Association, better known as The Big Fat Book of Mental Health Info. As a social worker, I have had the DSM pounded into my head for years. But apparently it’s not imprinted in there deeply enough to be able to recall everything in precise detail, hence the 1:46 AM wake up call.)

So I got up to use the bathroom, annoyed that my bladder felt the need to wake me up. I also wondered if I should head downstairs to look up that thing in the DSM. I decided against it because I determined that the act of going downstairs and looking something up would wake me up even more, and then I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. So after I finished up in the bathroom I went back to bed, confident that I would return to slumber soon.

I don’t know where in the world I got such a crazy idea. I *NEVER* just go back to sleep. I lay back down, close my eyes, and…

“Okay, I don’t need to look up the thing in the DSM. Because I can definitely remember all the criteria for…uh…what disorder was I thinking of? And what made me think of that disorder? Was it that guy at the gas station that was looking at me all weird, and that made me think there was something wrong with him? That must be it. Or maybe he was just admiring my mad karaoke skills as I was singing along while pumping gas. I love that the gas station was playing…umm…what was the song they were playing? I know it was really big when I was in junior high. Something about diggity. No diggity? No, that’s not it. The other song about diggity. Was there another song about diggity? If there was, I can’t remember it because I try to block everything from junior high. Junior high was awful. Oh no…here come the awkward memories. Quick, brain, change the channel! Don’t make me think of…dammit…you just HAD to take me back to running the mile in gym class, didn’t you? Sometimes you really get on my nerves, brain. Okay, okay, work with me, brain…think of something that’s NOT a frustrating memory from junior high that will help me get to sleep…like maybe what I have to do tomorrow. No, that’s not a good idea either, because now I’m getting stressed about all the things I have to do. NEW TOPIC! NEW SOOTHING TOPIC!”

And as I argue with my brain about getting to sleep, I hear the sounds of my husband as he continues to enjoy blissful slumber. We got into bed at 10 PM, and he has been asleep since 10:01. The only reason it took him that long was because he needed to blow his nose. Normally coming into contact with the bed will knock him out instantly. If he were in a movie where the villain needed to knock him out, they would skip the rag of chloroform and throw a pillow at him. It would be much faster and more effective.

Anyways, back to the start of this rant. As you can see, my tiredness is preventing me from staying focused. So my brain was going all over the place for hours and hours before I finally, finally went back to sleep. And it didn’t last long, because then the alarm was ready to go off. And do you think I could remember what was sooooooo important that I needed to look it up at 1:46 AM? No. Of course not.

So now I’m sleepwalking through my day, hoping that my lack of sleep in the previous night will make it easier to fall asleep tonight. I don’t know why I continue to believe this myth. Probably because I’m too tired to think anything else.

The Husband is not the only person in my household who seems to have a better relationship with sleep than I do. The Cat seems to be BFFs with sleep. As I’m writing this post, The Cat is currently snoring on the couch. And I don’t mean on the couch like sitting on the couch cushions like a normal person. I mean her body is perfectly balanced ON THE TOP OF THE COUCH, dangerously close to falling off onto the floor. I have no idea how that can possibly be comfortable. Yet there she is, snoozing away, probably getting better sleep than I ever have in my life. And I guarantee she isn’t being tormented by the thought of running the mile in junior high gym or trying to remember song lyrics. Nope. Sweet, sweet sleep; that’s what she’s getting.

Want to know where else The Cat has been able to sleep? On top of the piano. In the middle of the stairs. Inside the laundry hamper. ON TOP OF THE KITCHEN CABINETS. The Cat sleeps anywhere, everywhere, anytime.

Perhaps I need to adopt The Cat’s approach and try sleeping one of these places. I’ve also caught her chilling on top of the washer and dryer in the laundry room. That might be good. I could run the dryer and have a heated bed. Of course, my washer and dryer tend to start shaking toward the end of the cycle which at the very least would wake me up and most likely throw me off. I don’t need to be awakened by earthquake, thank you.

Clearly I am too tired to blog today. Sorry everyone. Hopefully next time I’ll be more awake. For now, I think I’m gonna take a nap and see if that helps. If you need me, I’ll be on top of the piano.