Sleep stalks me, rings my doorbell and runs away.
Like sex, if it didn’t feel so good, we wouldn’t do it. I crave it at times. I invite it with bribes of good sleep hygiene, like a small glass of pinot grigio, a warm bath, clean, cool sheets, a good zombifying read like the Health Care Bill, and even Ambien. But three a.m. and I am up, awake and annoyed. I walk from one dark window in the house to another looking out at the moon and the Spanish moss undulating. I listen to my favorite sounds ever: Owls hooting, the distant rumble and roar of the night train, the world asleep and exhaling, inhaling. I do like the sensations of the night walking. I will cop to that.
But when those pleasures are spent, as pleasures often are, I hit the cold blue light of the laptop. Google dishes up a bunch of articles on sleep disorders. They all lead to various forms of insanity explaining a whole hell of a lot.
One saving grace from what they say about sleep though, and this is supposedly the pay-off so before you turn me in to the thought police, I'm not going to do anything crazy because of my sleep disorder:
I dream when I sleep. Huge panoramic well-plotted coherent dreams of epic proportions and in wide-screen Technicolor. And I remember them. That is apparently the sign that I am receiving quality restorative sleep only it's on my own different-drummer terms.
I may be different, but I sure can entertain myself!