I still remember the annoyance of listening to my sister breathe. In, out. In, out. I would give anything--anything--if I could just sleep like that.
My tiny fingers pressed against my eyes, harder… harder…
if I squashed them hard enough, maybe I would get sleepy. I didn't… but I did discover little glowing shapes that stayed with me through the night.
I was four years old, but later
insomnia followed me through middle school, high school, and college. I learned to work with it; writing papers most nights from 11-2.
I was truly alive during those hours, but driving to work the next morning was somewhat like letting a toddler behind the wheel…
...after giving him a Percocet.
Then I met him: The Caveman, a.k.a., the man who rose and set with the sun. Literally.
How this gorgeous man fell in love with me, I couldn't figure out--until I realized after months of dating long-distance that he'd probably been sleeping through my late-night phone confessionals. For months after the wedding I would say,
"Don't you remember?---" and he would just sit, wide-eyed.
It wasn't that he didn't care after 7 p.m. in the summer (or 5 p.m. in the winter). It's just that talking to him was as pointless as explaining to that two-year-old on Percocet why he had to get out from behind the wheel.
He just wasn't with me.
About six months into this marriage thing,
I realized one of us was going to have to change our biological clocks. The only time we were both coherent at the same moment was the middle of the day.
This left any weekend I didn't happen to be at work for us to hang out.
I was desperate. I'm not proud to admit… I turned to drugs.
Benadryl became my dear my friend. I've been drugging for six years now, and my relationship with my man has improved greatly. I wake up to him refreshed, happy, and alive. (After my toddler hands me a cup of coffee and waits for a sign of life.)
Unfortunately, scientists just came out with a study that says
Benadryl kills brain cells and contributes to Alzheimer's. I thought long and hard about that. I pictured us as old, decrepit lovers--me, unable to remember his name.
Wait a second. That's pretty much how I am now with my insomnia, right?
So I guess the question is… do I want my coherent years now, or later?
***
Questions 4 U: When's the best time for you to write? Do you wake up, or set with the sun?