It wasn't complicated, really.
I would notice I was sleepy, go brush my teeth, pull off whatever I had on and most often toss it into the closet floor, where who knows, it might magically arise and slither onto a hanger in the night...and crawl into my twin bed. When I first began tucking my own self into bed, the hall light was on and my bedroom door was open. Of course, I was seven years old.
Later, the hall light remained on but the door was closed a bit. Eventually, the hall light was off and the door was closed. As an only child I learned to demand absolute quiet, gothic darkness, and utter privacy. This hasn't made me anyone's favorite bed partner, obviously.
I would toss myself carelessly onto my tummy, right arm curled up around the pillow, left arm tossed out carelessly. Left leg pulled up and right leg straight, head to the side, and out like a light. Believe it or not I slept an average of nine hours a night throughout high school and never woke up with a backache.
Now, on the other side from that life to this life, with hormones having abandoned me like little rodents diving off the side of my capsized ship of life ("Hot Flash III") I wonder how in the hell I am supposed to get a good night's sleep.
First, of course, there is the fact that I don't even begin to consider sleep until 12:30 AM. Anything before that is simply too early. For I will wake up six and a half hours later, no matter what. And bouncing around the house at 5 AM just doesn't appeal.
Then there are the technological distractions. The laptop. The HDTV. The DVR. Come on! I have a week's worth of taped stuff to clear out. Am I going to watch The Tudors or not? Yes, it's 11 pm, but damn that David Rhys whats his name looks hot. And of course, there's the phone. Every one of my fellow insomniacs is no doubt awake, ready to be engaged in a late night gossip session.
And then there are the snacks. Kettle chips happen to be my current fave, but the bathroom scale is screaming "No!" and soon it will be rice cakes again. Sometimes it's a popsicle, or an ice cream bar. Occasionally it's a beer and a slice of gruyere. I think the late night snack is one of life's greatest pleasures, much less complicated to procure than sex and not nearly as messy if you use a napkin.
When I finally doze off, it's not the pleasant drifting to oblivion it once was. It's more like unconsciousness hitting like a hammer. Clunk and yer out. Next thing you know, the sun is peeking in between the broken verticals and I am loathe to look at the clock. For I am afraid that most of the time it's too damn early.
Many times my sleep is interrupted but at least I no longer have to put up with sleepwalking. I hear I was pretty accomplished at this. To keep myself from nocturnal wanderings I used to pull out the chair from my desk and put it next to my bed, thinking of course that I would knock it over if I got up. However, as the story is told by my college roommate, one night sound asleep...I got up, put the chair under the desk, wandered around the room, asked where my lipstick was, and then headed back to bed. Before I went back to sleep (having never been awake) I pulled the chair back out to be sure I wouldn't sleepwalk.
One last thought about sleep - it really is about the pillow. I cannot travel without mine. I forgot it when I went to the hospital for surgery and I couldn't sleep. The fact that the bed was a board and pretty much everyone on the floor marched through my room all night had nothing to do with it. There are two schools of pillows, firm and mooshy. I am a fan of the mooshy.I like to smoosh the moosh. Sometimes I need two mooshies to accomplish this. To each his own pillow, I say, and to all, sweet dreams.
