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Lisa's |
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Write:
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Sleepless history, like most history, tends to
repeat itself. Just as the past is
a nonnegotiable reality, so is the basic need for solid sleep.
Lately, I find myself drawn to the clock beside my bed and an unfavorable
hour has made it a habit to stare back at me. Right there, alive and ticking,
reminding me of the long darkness ahead. I’ve decided that the difference between a brief
nocturnal awakening and an irritatingly restless night is within a thirty-second
or less realization, when rapid eye movement, commonly referred to as REM, is
swapped for what I call OEM…open eye movement.
The slumber party is over. After denial ends, we can no longer debate,
and are forced to accept the notion that the frightening nightmare scaring us is
the fear of frustrating insomnia ahead. As
an attempt to reverse our fates, we think fast and may resort to envisioning
sheep leaping over fences, count backward from any given number, or in the case
of the average writer, tally the rejection slips received in any one calendar
year. See, life is full of choices.
Even if none of them work. When I notice myself in such predicaments, I try to use
my highly alert state of mind for productive purposes.
Many bright and not so bright ideas have been unearthed during these
undesirable occasions. However, not before I’ve given reentering dreamland my best
shots first. Covers on, covers off,
covers back on. Turn pillows over,
and then turn them once again. I’ve
learned that this pathetic offshoot of square dancing with the bedding is not
the magical answer. The lifeless clock near my bed is my challenging
opponent. Usually unbeatable,
although a twentieth of my size and has no brain.
And so, to avoid having its victory shoved in front of my eyes, I turn on
the radio and look the other way. Nothing
like mellow tunes to restore relaxation and to forget my self-proclaimed
dilemma. Unfortunately, the
announcers never fail to serve as backups for my annoying in-house ticktocker.
The intended effects of those soothing sounds radiating from the little
device are overpowered and disqualified by the constant reminder I originally
sought to escape. The following link connecting the chain of events is to
shut off the radio and move on to my next feeble attempt to seize a restful
night. Proceeding down the steps to
prepare a warm glass of milk doesn’t do the trick. Neither does staring out my bedroom window, pondering how
simple and peaceful the world appears from my limited view. With an almost defeatist attitude, I crawl back into
bed, slide under the covers and turn my pillows over a few times, just because.
I surrender to the sleepless night that stalks me.
Not long after I’ve given up the battle, I open my eyes and awaken to
morning. And we all know that the cozy moments when needed sleep is
ours for the taking, we often must unwillingly drag our weak and weary bods out
of bed. A full pot of coffee can’t correct the underlying
grogginess consuming my state of being. But
there I am, ceramic cup in hand, reaching for a spoonful of sugar, anyway.
Purely a matter of habit. I
am carried through the day with the optimistic hope that when nighttime arrives,
I’ll have been happily unaware of its lonely silence the next morning. And so, I look forward to the promise of a reenergizing
deep sleep. I tell myself not to
think so much, as my attempts to outsmart insomnia may be the very reason for
its sporadic existence. The best I
can do is close my eyes and have faith that Mr. Sandman will carry out his
expected job. There is an old
saying, “The night has a thousand eyes.” I wouldn’t care if it had a million piercing eyes. As long as two of them aren’t mine.
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