I Suck At Sleeping

I’ve never been a good sleeper. It is not one of my special talents. Dog snoring and husband sleep talking (and once sleep truck driving) doesn’t help that much either.

A few months ago, in the middle of the night, J nudged me awake, laughed and said, “That’s so typical of night,” in his sleep talking voice.

“You’re sleeping!” I said, hoping to fall asleep again before I shifted into wide awake.

“But it’s so typical of night,” he said.

“No, it’s not!” I said. “Go back to sleep!”

“It’s not? It’s not typical of night?” He was annoyed. “It’s NOT typical of night?”

“Fine,” I said. “It’s so typical of night!”

And with that, J was instantly asleep again, and I was past the point of no return on being awake. The next morning when I asked, he had no idea what he could have been talking about.

Sunday night, J woke up at 1:45 with a foot cramp. Or at least he was dreaming he had a foot cramp, I’m not sure if it was real. For some reason, in my just awake haze, I thought he was pulling his toenail off and started freaking out that he was hurting himself. He was merely rubbing his foot, and was back to sleep in seconds.

At 1:50, I remembered that I left a switch on in the basement, and got up to turn it off. An old wall fan that I’ve never turned on in the entire time we’ve lived in this house was on, which was kind of creepy. I turned it off.

1:55 – lay in bed wondering if that fan had some kind of connection to the nearby furnace.

2:00 – still wondering. Start to worry the house might explode (I’m completely irrational when I wake up in the middle of the night, which adds to the fun) because the fan could be a critical part of the heating system, and maybe it should have stayed on.

2:10 – start to fall asleep. Argo making smacking noises with his mouth in his sleep. Decide he’s thirsty and wake him up to give him some water. He wags his tail while he’s drinking, but is still so sleepy that I have to direct him back to his dog bed. It’s really cute.

2:30 – almost asleep, but awake enough to hear the cat puke (she’s fine, she just pukes a lot). Decide to clean it up in the AM.

2:31 – realize Argo was also awake enough to hear the cat puke and will clean it up himself if I don’t get to it first. Get up and clean it.

2:35 – back in bed. Cat pukes again, this time while running into the living room to puke on the rug. Get up and chase puking cat around the living room.

2:40 – back in bed. Decide the fan could have been connected to the switch. Get up to check my theory. It’s not connected. Freaked out all over again that the fan was on.

3:00 – back in bed, almost asleep. Stella starts sleep barking. A lot. Waking her up is usually a bad idea, so I wait it out, and finally fall asleep again at some point after that.

And, of course, J slept through all of this. When I told him about it the next morning, he barely even remembered the foot cramp. “Of course,” I said. “That’s so typical of night.”

Sha la la la!

On Sunday night, the hubs decided to make a pot of decaf. We were sitting at the kitchen table and it was cozy and the idea of a cup of coffee was too ideal to pass up.

“This is decaf, right?” I asked, joking.

“Ha! Would be funny if it wasn’t,” he said.

We clarified which bag the coffee came from, and it was, indeed, decaf. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter. While I was about to pass out at 7, by 10:30, I was completely wired. I sat in bed, catching up on Grey’s Anatomy episodes on my laptop. I was only going to watch one, but ended up watching 3. Then, of course, I started worrying about car accidents, cancer, and a full range of illnesses only worthy of mention in obscure medical journals and procedural TV shows.

After accidentally waking J up three or four times (he falls back to sleep so easily), I decided to hang out in the living room instead. I watched two episodes of How I Met Your Mother, and all the new episodes of The Office.

2:30 in the morning, and I still wasn’t sleepy. Argo and J were snoring in the bedroom, and the cat was giving me the evil eye from the couch. I used to love being up so late. It used to feel like quality alone time, but now it’s just lonely. I wasn’t lucid enough to get any work done, but I wasn’t sleepy enough to go to bed. Then I discovered the wonder that is classic television reruns on CBS.com. One episode of Family Ties made my eyelids heavy and my brain regress to a time where my dreams were filled with the possibility of marrying Michael J. Fox.

I managed to keep that blissful sleepy feeling as I closed up my computer and stumbled into the dark bedroom. But then I stepped on a shoe that I thought was the dog, bent down to pet him, and caught the corner of the bedframe full on my left boob, so hard that I knocked some of the wind out of myself. I spent the next 45 minutes hugging an ice pack and trying to breathe normally. I have a very odd looking bruise.

I am never drinking coffee after 4pm again. Decaf or otherwise.

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