Sleepless

I open one eye to peek again at the glowing green digits. 1:30. Mental calculations follow. How long have I been trying; How long before I have to rise; How long since the last time I checked the clock? I could think of a hundred interesting reasons to be awake all night, and none of them include lying in bed tossing and turning...well, maybe one of them, but that's not the case tonight.

Insomnia creeps up on me like this every once in a while, giving little indication early in the evening. I'll head for bed sleepy, ready to sink into dreams, and end up floating just on the surface. Hours pass with no change except a periodic shift in position and a mounting frustration at the slow crawl toward morning responsibilities. Of course, I recognize that frustration robs me of the rest I sorely need, but calm is not easy to come by as the night ebbs away. I try all the tricks: counting, telling myself stories, breathing exercises, a little midnight snack or short warm shower, anything I can think of to press the reset button and start my goodnight again. I've never been tempted to try sleeping pills. Pharmaceutical answers usually just trade your problems for new ones, so I'm not willing to seek that artificial slumber. Sometimes my natural efforts are rewarded with a couple of hours before the alarm rings. Sometimes I give up and try to make use of the time.

Tonight, it could be any of a number of reasons, but none of them severe enough to warrant a completely sleepless night, or so I thought. My husband's work schedule has been changed recently, and the early mornings and early bedtimes have generally thrown off my natural rhythm. A night on the couch to avoid disturbing him with my sleeplessness left me with an aching back, which in turn makes resting difficult. It's a vicious cycle, at least until we get a more comfortable couch. There are plenty of nagging responsibilities and unfinished projects in my life, but none so critical that it might inspire the kind of anxiety that would keep me awake. Caffiene is an ever-present factor, of course, but today's intake was fairly light compared to the usual. Still, all this logical analysis of why my problems shouldn't cause me to lose sleep doesn't seem to matter. I am awake. I am alone in the quiet of the night, and I've hours to fill before I zombie-walk off to work.

When I was a teenager, I'd often stay up writing through the night. It was short stories, then, and the crest of them would carry me through the early morning hours to wash ashore in a successful conclusion. The length of each piece was perfect for a night's work, and the sense of satisfaction could wash away frustration at occasional insomnia. Lately, working on a larger scope, I have no neat package of story to complete before morning. I can only write my characters into their troubles and leave them there when my job demands it. No conclusion. No help. No rest.

Maybe I'll have to start writing some short pieces again. Maybe I'll just take a walk around the block. Maybe I'll make a bed on the living room floor and avoid the lumpy couch. And maybe I'll just spend the night looking forward to tomorrow night when I should be tired enough to overcome any lingering issues and finally get a little sleep.