I hate when this happens.
I went through my usual nightly routines. Prepped coffee and snacks for the next day. Laid out my clothes. Set my alarm. Plugged in my phones. Finally crawled between my comfy jersey sheets and curled up with a book.
I read for about twenty minutes, even though it was after bedtime. Reading is vital to falling asleep, and skipping it is rarely an option. Sure enough, even though I was engaged and near the end of a really good story (Counting by 7s), I was sleepy enough to set the book aside and go to sleep.
Only sleep apparently wasn’t on the agenda.
On a good night, it will take me between 20-40 minutes to fall asleep. I daydream, drowse, drift between conscious and unconscious, and next thing you know, I’m waking up hours later.
Last night, after 30 minutes, I wasn’t even close to drowsing, and I realized the falling asleep on my back wasn’t going to happen. Sometimes all it takes is flipping over to reset the sleep thing successfully.
But not last night. Last night it just kicked off four hours of tossing and turning.
There was a sleeping pill involved, so I didn’t give in to the Nyquil temptation that struck sometime after midnight. I counted to a zillion. I went through a million relaxation techniques. I let my mind float, hoping the free association and less-than-structured narrative would help. Because my daydreams were so entertaining that they weren’t putting me to sleep. They were like reading a good book instead.
I finally fell asleep some time after 2 a.m. I’m not sure when.
My alarm went off at 5:45 a.m.
And then 5:52 a.m.
And then 6:00.
I’m not sure what time the wall will slap me in the face, but I know it’s there. Looming. And at some point today, I’m going to run
But I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.