sleeping troubles

Music: Bon Iver: [self-titled] (2011)

I have troubles. Among them, sleeping troubles. I never had these troubles until graduate school, and they have worsened over the years. It's often like my psyche is a hard drive that refuses to "spin down," and with little or no control of images from the day, conversations and so forth, as they circulate. I've worked with my doctor to find an alternative to my favorite sleep aid (bourbon), and we've tried a number of things.

Mostly, though, the best remedy is to live a less stressed life and to exercise. I have achieved at least one of these (the exercise). Who knew professorship was so stressful? Well, my professors I suppose. But I wasn't told that. My nighttime anxieties have lessened significantly since tenure, as there is a sense of security in that, now in these increasingly dire economic times. Right now benedryl is my "aid" of choice. I have also found that when school is not in session, I can usually get to sleep without having any aid. That tells me something about "school" . . . .

To help me with sleeping, I make sure my bed is also one of the most comfortable places to be. Some years ago I bought a king size memory foam mattress, which I love (after I got used to it). I have a few sets of very expensive bedclothes, and a weighty but still not too hot cover. I have a bazillion pillows. It's all very comfy, and I reasoned, if I'm going to splurge on something, the bed is not a bad place to do so.

One of the biggest issues I have with sleeping is not getting to sleep, but staying there. I'm usually in my deepest, most satisfying sleep in the later morning hours between four and seven or so. I usually try to get up around 8:00 a.m., however, since school has been out I've been rising at nine. Unfortunately, early morning is where the troubles often begin.

Today I had planned to "sleep in" as long as I wished. The first trouble is that my bladder would not comply. About five a.m. I took care of bidness, and hopped back into bed. As soon as I got back to sleep, Janet the rescue kitty decided it was time for me to get up and started meowing, loudly. I threw a pillow at her. Unphased, Janet continued, ever-louder, until I had to get up to investigate. She usually wants water, so I went to fill her water bowl only to discover it was full. I told her to shut up and got back in bed.

My neighbor two doors down, whom I adore, recently adopted a dog, Andy, whom I hate with the passion of a thousand young stars. About seven or so my neighbor releases the Cracken Andy into the front yard to do his business, which, alas, is not peeing but barking. Right outside my bedroom window. A high pitched, little-shit-of-a-dog bark. I'm wide awake.

The effing dog finally shuts up, and I go back to sleep. Here comes Janet again, meowing . . . . She shuts up, but the my other cat Psappho pushes a food bowl off the counter and it crashes into the tile floor.

Fuck it. I'm up. It's 8:00 a.m. I give up. Might as well just dance: