I almost never sleep anymore. Four, five hours a night, tops. The rest is just torrid, sheet-ripping sex, by which I mean looking at shoes on the internet.*
When I was in college, I could sleep anywhere.
I wasn't a heavy sleeper, but I could doze off in nearly any position physics and my nimble 19 year-old joints could contrive. I remember one particularly enjoyable nap under a sprawling live oak that stood sentinel over my university's mercilessly manicured quad.
|Ah, 1998. The last time I got a tan from a nap. Also, these kids were probably like, six.|
My best friend can sleep anywhere too, and she stays asleep.
Rousing her requires three alarm clocks that violate city noise ordinances plus a vibrating one for deaf people that goes under the mattress and scares the bejeezus out of me every single time I hear it.
Yes, hear it.
In addition to shaking like a caffeinated jackhammer, the deaf alarm makes this weird animatronic distress moo. However creepy that sounds in your head, it's about a million times creepier when you hear it in real life. The lambs, Clarice.
While my BFF is snoozin' the dream, I, on the other hand, used to wake up when the clock radio in the little yellow bungalow across the street would blast out the first notes of Radar Love. I'm not even making that up, though in the spirit of full disclosure it wasn't all the time and sometimes the classic rock station played Meatloaf.
I've got a couple pet theories as to why I don't sleep.
|Which is why Rhiannon --unlike PTSD Puma-- does not watch scary movies|
While HLB slumbers peacefully wrapped in all the blankets our king size bed can provide (how, how can someone so small take up so much bedding?), I lie awake listening to
- the ocean and the sea lions
- the panoply of electricos, aka street dogs, who run wild along the beach barking at the sea lions
- the eight or so dogs at the horse rescue belonging to the Awesome Vegan Lesbians (AVLs) next door, who have very definite ideas about the electricos, and aren't afraid to voice them
- the horrible yappy dogs next door who don't have a dog in that fight, as it were, but still like to make their high-strung presence known
- the almost inaudible European ambulance sound from the otherwise awesome warming blanket that's plugged into the socket with the wonky current. I'm pretty sure that's what's responsible for my Anne Frank nightmares.
- the weird sleep sounds emanating from various orifices of the cottage's male residents, both human and canine
|Just look at this sleep-stealing jerkwad. He doesn't even CARE. (photo)|
They don't hum exactly, but they do make a sort of chatter somewhere between a squirrel and a bat and it drives me crazy.
Plus the neighbors.
Not the AVLs with their perfect six month-old son, but the Other Neighbors. The ONs are a late baby-boomer couple with an odd relationship dynamic wherein the wife --whose voice makes Ethel Merman sound like Sade, I'll just pause while you imagine The Merm singing The Sweetest Taboo-- explodes into a paroxysm of profanity every hour or so while HLB and I try to decide what we'd say to the police when her truly endearing and long-suffering husband finally kills her.
I can't sleep when she screams and I can't sleep when she doesn't scream (was tonight the night he finally threw the blender in her bathtub? What if he asks to borrow a shovel? Does the US extradite?)
Sleeping with earplugs makes me overly anxious --what if I miss something important?-- and despite popular reports, I'd really rather not take any more drugs than I have to, although melatonin has been fairly good to me in the past.
Do you have any sleepytime suggestions? I rarely touch sugar in the evening or caffeine at all. If you've got any magic tricks, put it in the comments!
|Oh yeah, and screw this guy, I don't care if he IS a cartoon. [via]|
*but also the sex