A Sleep Routine

You’d think a raving insomniac would have something to say about sleep, but I have nothing useful to offer. I don’t have any advice about how to achieve a restful night’s sleep. I can’t even get to sleep!

Anyone who knows me knows that I do not sleep. I lie in bed and let my mind drive me completely insane for a few hours and then I get up and face the day.

Sometimes I doze and dream, and I call it a win. Dreaming is good. Dreaming is a mind dump that relieves some of the pressure in my overworked brain. I like it when I dream and remember dreaming, because I know for certain, then, that I achieved some level of sleep. Even when the clock tells me I was still awake at 2:13 a.m. and it is now 4:11 a.m. If there was a dream in there, I actually went to sleep. Rejoice!

Once upon a time, my sister believed in the My Pillow guy and ordered pillows to try. She was going to send one to me if it helped her sleep better.

She hated that pillow. Even her cats wouldn’t sleep on it.

In retrospect, I find that whole story hilarious, because that guy…that "pillow guy"…he’s nuts. Big time. Certifiable.

Let’s be clear, though—I have tried other pillows, and all I can say is this: I don’t really like pillows. I want something that is almost flat, just something under my neck, basically. Big, fat and fluffy? No thank you.

But I am considering ordering some sort of bed-in-a box. Lull, maybe. A firmer model, though, because I’m not into soft and cushy.

I am suspicious of furniture in boxes. But my sister—my other sister—seems to like her new bed.

So, I am considering it.

I'm not good with change, but maybe a new bed would help.

Maybe.

My ex once asked me if what I really wanted wasn’t a bed of nails. I reminded him that acupressure and acupuncture are real ways people find relief of pain and discomfort, and he reminded me that if I punctured a lung I wouldn’t have to worry about any of it anymore.

Incredibly, this is NOT the reason he’s an ex. But it does have a telling element, don’t you think?

Every New Year, I resolve to find a way to get a good night’s sleep, and every year I fail.

But—

I now have a sleep routine, which is a new thing for me.

I am my mother’s caregiver. She does know how to sleep, and she has a predictable schedule for it. So, once I get her to bed, I take the dog outside for her constitutional, and then I get ready for bed, and I actually go to bed.

At pretty much the same time every night, I go to bed. I turn off the light. I put on something to listen to. It could be music or an old television episode I don’t absolutely have to stay awake to see the end of because I’ve already seen it. It’s there to provide something to distract me from the brain that will inevitably start telling me all the things I did wrong, or said wrong, or should have done or said for the last sixty years. The brain that will insist that I need to plan my next shopping trip, my next bill-paying session or my next vacation right now—no waiting until morning, because this is important, damn it!

Save me, "Golden Girls". Tell us a story, Rose. Be sarcastic, Dorothy. Ahhhh.

I try not to put on anything too exciting. Sorry, "Criminal Minds". Those stories tend to get messy and noisy. Great for kitchen clean up time, not trying to sleep time.

Maybe I should try Seinfeld. He’s pretty boring…

Don’t judge me. I have never once laughed at that show. I don’t think it is funny. I think that show is boring. I should be taking advantage of that! What’s wrong with me?

(Quickly checking to see which of my subscription streaming outlets has Seinfeld. Aha! Netflix!)

And…I’m back. Tonight’s plan—we shall see.

Anyway, I have a predictable bedtime now, because not only does Mom have one, so does Molly MuttDoggle. Keep her up too late, and she will get testy. Little growls, bigger growls and then yipping barks that say, “Hey! It’s time for bed! Put me to bed! Move it!”

Like she doesn’t nap all day long…

What a stinker.

So, I lie in the dark and listen to whatever I have put on to block out my own yapping brain and then I…wait…

And wait…

And get up and make a perimeter check. No burglars. No dancing in the street. No water running.

Might as well pee while I’m up. Oh, Molly…do you want to pee, too? Outside we go. She does not get to go alone. There are owls out there.

Not that I have a plan for fending off owl attacks, you understand. I’m just hoping a fat old lady by her side might make the owls think twice about swooping in for a Molly-snack.

Back inside. Oh, so quiet.

Hoping against hope that Mom won’t wake up and need to pee, too, because getting her up and then back in bed really means that any sleepiness I have achieved so far will be out the window, and that will be the end of this night’s sleep trial.

Finally drifting of around 4 a.m. or so…then up at 6 because by then Mom really does need to wake up and use the restroom. And if she doesn’t, I’m up anyway, because she should be, and now I need to make sure she’s breathing.

Whew. She is.

But I don’t want to fall asleep now, because she’ll need help when she does wake up…any time now.

Read. Watch something. Wait.

Mom’s up. Bathroom duties done, dressed, settled. She's in her chair, covered with a blanket, watching early morning news and dozing off.

I lie down, desperate for at least an hour nap. Molly is delighted to stay in bed with me for a little while longer.

A very little while, because Mom will need her breakfast soon.

The bed feels good. Molly snuggles in close. She’s warm…I’m warm…

Doze.

And…I’m up!

Whatever.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead.