I’ve always considered myself a good sleeper. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I am OUT and I sleep like a rock for the rest of the night. (Yes, I know that the correct word is “log,” but I am actually much more rock-like when I sleep.)
Of course, we all have those nights where we can’t sleep and our minds are going in a million different directions all at once and we know that we’re going to be really grumpy in the morning and probably have a headache all day long but there’s nothing we can do to about it because we are solving all of the problems of mankind while we are laying in bed even though we should probably be doing something a little more productive like oh, say, cleaning out the mudroom. Don’t we? But thankfully, for me, those nights are few and far between.
Until now. Apparently my ease in falling asleep and staying that way was caused by the state of utter and complete exhaustion that I normally find myself in. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control, for the past week I have been forced to do…nothing. NOTHING. I was even specifically forbidden to fold laundry. Seriously.
Now, before you get all excited, let me clear something up. I am not, repeat NOT, pregnant. Thankyouverymuch. In fact, I feel just fine.
So it really sucks that I’m stuck on the couch. That’s right, I said “sucks.” And I meant it. A lot.
Back to topic. It turns out that when I am not totally and completely exhausted by running 95 miles an hour all day every day, I am not so good at the sleeping thing.
Every night I wake up right around 1:00 a.m. And I am buzzed.
Lay in bed for a while, having pretend conversations in my head with pretty much every person I’ve ever met in my whole entire life.
Make mental lists of everything that is currently not getting done.
Feel sorry for myself.
Feel silly for feeling sorry for myself.
Have a few more imaginary conversations during which many world problems are solved.
Listen to the cat hacking up a hairball in the loft.
Go to the loft to find the hairball. It’s a big one. That I’m not supposed to clean. And I’m okay with that. I mark its location for Todd. Pat myself on the back for being such a good wife.
Head to the computer, where I am currently blogstalking a breathtakingly good writer who is dealing with the pain of divorce. Wonder where she gets the courage to put herself out there like that – with her emotions raw and ugly and beautiful all at once and oh, so very open to public scrutiny. Because this? Is as close as you will ever get to a heartfelt moment from me. And I’m totally blaming it on the sleep deprivation.
Stop blogstalking long enough to take a quiz to determine if I can name all 50 states in under 10 minutes. I can’t. How can this be??!! I taught states and capitals in 5th grade, for Pete’s sake!
Study up on a list of the states.
Retake the quiz. Totally rock it this time through. We’ll just forget about the first time.
Head down to the kitchen for a drink.
Get depressed again when I see how messy it is. One more week before I’m allowed to clean it. Sigh.
Think about reading this month’s book club book. Which may just be the most boring book ever written. Decide I’m not that desperate yet.
Back into bed, because it’s been several hours now and surely I’ll be able to fall asleep.
Toss. Turn. Toss.
More imaginary conversations.
Turn. Toss. Turn.
Wonder how Todd can sleep in that really odd position.
Wonder how Todd even got into that really odd position.
Wonder how hard I would have to push Todd to make him fall off the bed.
Resist the temptation.
Listen to sprinkling system and wonder who set it to go off this early.
Realize the sun is coming up.
Watch the ceiling. Ceilings are very boring.
Head back out to the loft to do some campaign work. Realize the internet is down.
Listen to Todd’s alarm going off. Bummer.
So today I’m ignoring doctor’s orders, throwing caution to the wind, and cleaning until I’m too exhausted to move. Because really, this is just stupid.