Maybe it’s hormones, maybe it’s stress, and maybe it’s my binge watching of violent young adult dystopian dramas (see last week’s column) before bed, but for the life of me, I cannot sleep straight through the night anymore. And I’m not talking about getting up to use the bathroom – I’ve accepted this annoyance as a fact of aging and three pregnancies. No, I’m speaking of hours of lying awake, tossing and turning, trying desperately to rein in my thoughts.
Last night, for example, I spent a solid 40 minutes contemplating running for political office. Which office? Could I keep teaching? What if I won? Debates are scary. How much do those gigs pay? Maybe I should go to law school first. Then, I segued into probably another 30 minutes on a potential spring break vacay. Where could we drive for warm weather and ocean views? How much could we spend? How does a pandemic factor into this sunny scenario? Is a spray tan necessitated?
At some point, stream-of-consciousness thinking takes over: I hope we win Mega Millions. I can’t forget to take my gym bag tomorrow. Did I ever return my mother-in-law’s call? In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I’m definitely heading to Rockville. Could I pull off being blonde? Bangs? Abraham Lincoln was a complicated fella. Who invented pizza? And so on.
It’s exhausting, and not in any way that allows me to fall back asleep. I try mediation, deep breathing, and occasionally, yes, even counting sheep. But usually to no avail.
Stupid hormones and stress! And maybe “The 100,” though that beautiful show is worth it.
Peace out.
