Tag Archives: sleep

Connecting to the wild world, or where the hell is that mosquito?

Last night I crashed into bed after a lovely day connecting with my inner islander, wallowing on the beach, soaking up sun, wading in the frigid ocean, relaxing with friends.
It was all totally exhausting and I was so ready for sleep when I crawled into my bed…
Only to find several islanders were trying to connect with me.
Their high-pitched whines screamed in my ears, but I couldn’t spot them – just the occasional fly-by at high speed to torture me….
It was too hot to pull the covers over my head, and I knew I’d be covered in bites if I didn’t. What to do?
I swatted at them ineffectually. I pulled open the window to cool off the night air, to slow them down, maybe? I opened my bedroom door, sacrificing my friend to their gentle mercies. What’s a friend for, right? She always gets bitten by things. They LIKE her better. I was just trying to be kind to my island friends…
Finally, I fell asleep…
I don’t dare look at my face today, though. I imagine they connected with me many times, I probably look like a hormone-ridden teenager…

Fresh sheets….

I spoil myself, I truly do. Within reason, of course….
Sleep is so so very important to me. Maybe it was the years of shift work as a nurse? Maybe the years of child rearing? Maybe the twitches of MS and all that jazz…
But sleep, ooooooh. It’s nice. A comfy bed is my happy place. Always when I am asked to imagine such a place, I think back to a room in a hotel in Interlaken, Switzerland, with tall windows opening out over the lake, a cool breeze playing with white muslin curtains, and the BED!
It was all in white. Tall, high off the ground, with box spring, mattress, feather bed (!), bleached white sheets, pouffy comforter and those wonderful square German pillows…
I have only to think of that room, that bed, and my blood pressure drops, my pulse slows, relaxation soaks up my feet like warm caramel.
So I try to recreate that feeling here, in my home bed. I buy myself high thread count sheets and even sometimes iron them with lavender water, so that clouds of fragrant dreams bop around on the ceiling.
The very best time is when the sheets and I are freshly bathed before I slide between them. The window, open, lets a slight chill fill the room. This requires nestling into the comforter, pulling it up over my shoulders.
One foot out, always, for temperature regulation.
Sleep well…

Midnight on a snowy evening…

There’s something about midnight on a snowy night. Sounds are muffled, few cars are on the road, the plows have already been by and their flashing lights have spun out across the snow.
It’s quiet in my suburban apartment. Too quiet. I can hear the ticking of all the clocks in the apartment, the slight twanging of the heaters.
At times like this, the idea of having another breathing body in this space is enchanting. I miss hearing someone else inhaling and exhaling. I miss curling up in bed with someone, breathing the same air, touching them on the hand or overlapping legs or curling around them. I miss going to bed with someone, having the last laugh of the day together, getting and giving a goodnight kiss.
Of course, that’s the good stuff. After all that, there’s often the snoring (his and mine), the too hot body next to mine, the lack of sprawling space.
I’ve chosen this life, for a bunch of reasons. I’m used to it; I cherish my solitude. Not that I’d never give it up, for the right person…maybe…
There’s this wonderful song that has a line in it : “if she knew what she wants, he’d be giving it to her”. I’ve probably never known what I wanted. I think I want it all – a loving relationship, my own space, enjoyable sex, a bed to myself, someone to laugh with, someone to be quiet with.
It should be possible, right?
Meanwhile I sit here, alone, listening to the ticking, not lonely, not sad, but a wee bit wistful.

The gathering gloom

It was lovely waking early today, with an extra hour to laze about before I headed into the last day of training. I finished it without collapsing!!! And now have a certificate suitable for framing for my troubles. Only got into one mild fisticuff, so I’m feeling pretty proud. Soon I’ll be able to inflict my knowledge on others…
But now it’s evening, and the new daylight has all been used up and so have I. November seems November-ish, all of a sudden- dark and gloomy and with winter hovering in the clouds overhead. The wind, so warm til now, thanks to Sandy, has remembered how it is supposed to blow.
The sky looks leaden, almost snow- laden…
On the good side, no more classes for this course, so tomorrow I’ll get to snuggle under the covers, read a little, and get caught up on NaNoWriMo, where I have fallen horribly behind.
And maybe the sun will come back, just for one more day…


Morning dawns

There’s a pinky sunrise outside my window and my iPod has played the cheery “marimba” wake-up call three times, and yet I linger in bed, unwilling to awaken.
Today is day 2 of my course and I realize I don’t want to go. I long to wallow in my comfy warm sheets, curl back into my dreams, wallow in the joy of being cozily sleepy.
I’m so lucky to have this bed, this apartment, this life. I can choose my activities, within the limits if my disability, and choose my goals.
Others don’t have the choice – their disabilities are worse, their finances are less, their ability to speak is muted.
For me, this is a call to action, to speak for those who can’t or fear to.
And so I quit my comfy warm bed and struggle upwards, knowing this class may lead to an ability to know and understand, a bit, others’ challenges. So that maybe, maybe, I can be of some help to them, sharing my luck (for that is all it is) with them until they also feel stronger.



It’s a rare thing for me. Sleep and I spend a lot of time together, usually. We enjoy each other’s company.

I’m awake because my body is telling me it is alternately in the tropics and then in the freezer. I shiver, pull the covers over, sweat, shiver, sweat.

It is, of course, my fault. Today at breakfast I bragged about how menopause had seemingly passed me by without too much trouble. I denied hot flashes, talked about how I have only had one, and how my hormones seem to be taking it easy on me. I actually commented about how it was important to just ignore it and move on.

Once again, hubris, and the subsequent punishment. I could just scream at how quickly the gods note when I feel even vaguely superior to anything and then pound me into the dust.

Anyone would think they were trying to teach me a lesson.

It’s like when I used to go roller skating. I would finally get my sea legs in the large roller skating rinks I actually grew up with (yes, I am that old – the skates even had FOUR WHEELS! EACH!!). I’d stagger around the rink, limping for time after time, trying to control my uncoordinated body, and then I’d get it. My body would cooperate, and I’d have five glorious seconds of sailing along, graceful at last. I’d just start to think about how beautiful I must look. Poetry in motion, I’d think. Just before I smashed into THE MOST DESIRABLE boy in the 8th grade, knocking him into the prettiest girl and both of them and me into the boards.

Even the mirror ball and pounding music couldn’t save me.

Biking, the same. Finally got to the point where I could bike with grace and charm, but if I ever let that thought enter my head, I could guarantee I’d hit a rock, shuffle sideways, fling myself onto the ground.

It’s not like I am a proud person. I wouldn’t say I was exactly humble, and maybe that’s what gets the gods annoyed, but, goshdarnit – can’t I maintain some modicum of self-respect?

Apparently not. So here I sit, at 4 AM, researching why my parrotlet has suddenly taken to pulling out her chest feathers (hormones could be to blame there, too), and alternately wrapping and unwrapping myself while I listen to international news about disasters happening everywhere.

Again with the lessons. Even at this hour I am reminded that my little problems are so small given what others are coping with. I give up. I’m off to bed, having found some yummy bird food recipes, and isolated why she may be freaking out. But only “may”. Gods forbid I might feel competent!

All I can say is it’s a darn good thing those gods aren’t hanging about nearby. Because there’s one aspect of this menopause thing I have down pat. I can mood swing wilder than anyone I’ve met.  It’s like my body is pushing me on the swings. Poetry in motion. Really.