I have bouts of insomnia alternated by bouts of sleepomania. I don’t sleep when I’m too stressed out and I sleep all the time when I’m too stressed out. Yes, I’m aware it’s the same thing, it depends on what kind of stressed out exactly I am at the moment. Right now, I’m the kind of stressed out when I never sleep because my brain never shuts down (and never shuts up).
When I was attempting to sleep last night, I found myself engaging in various kinds of bizarre activities not only not related to but even outright counterproductive to sleeping. They say that if you don’t fall asleep within half an hour, you should get up. Alright, so I got up and did the following:
- In lieu of a hot bath, I went to shave my legs because I don’t have a bathtub and it doesn’t really matter what kind of ritual involving hot water and foam you do.
- In lieu of hot milk, I opened the fridge and watched it for a while like a TV. There was soy milk but I didn’t dare to heat it up lest it should explode. You never know what they put in these things.
- In lieu of a relaxing meditation, I put a coat over my nightie and sat at the balcony to smoke. Smoking before bed is even worse than smoking at other times because it apparently pumps you up.
Then I crawled back in bed and was freezing, either because it was cold outside or due to the loss of my fur by shaving. I lay flat on my back and was waiting, impatiently. Nothing happened. So I rolled on to my side and called the cat. Three times. She was too busy licking her butt on my yoga mat to come to me. I’ll remember that the next time she meows for wet food.
I remembered to close my eyes to facilitate sleep. Then I remembered what I haven’t done today, what I should’ve done the day before and what I should do the next day, provided I fall asleep and wake up. Then I remembered what I have done throughout my life and what I shouldn’t have done. I grew increasingly terrified. Then I managed to cry myself to sleep.