10

As many of you know, Joe was out of town most of this past weekend.  He visited a few cities and met more people interested in the project, and I was able to tackle some projects of my own.  Like eating.  And watching TV.  Lots and lots of TV.

That’s why I’m usually a good sport about Joe going out of town…at least, during daylight hours.  When Joe’s home, we have a pretty tight bedtime routine.  When he’s out of town, it’s a whole other bedtime story.

Once he comes back, I’m able to get back to my routine.  And then earlier this week, in honor of the 50^th Anniversary of Star Trek, we’ve been watching some episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and the episode in which the crew is unable to sleep (and slowly start to go mad) came on.  Seeing Troi’s dark sunken eyes and Dr. Crusher’s matted hair reminded me of what I must’ve looked like just this past Saturday.

To demonstrate what I went through, let me take you to bed.  My bed.  Hour by hour when I’m left to my own nighttime devices…

Friday, 10:00 p.m. 

The time is nearly nigh.  I close up the house, double (and sometimes triple) checking the front door to make sure it’s locked.  I clean up the rest of the kitchen, put the dishes away that are clean, and put the dirty ones in the dishwasher (all between commercials, of course).

I take my shower, being wary to do it earlier in the evening and faster than usual before my overactive imagination sets my fears aflame and I nearly jump out of the stall with shampoo still clinging to my head, all because I heard “something”.

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

The Golden Hour- dubbed because that’s when Golden Girls starts on Hallmark channel.  I let my hair dry in my towel-turban as I lay nearly comatose on the bed, getting up only to brush my teeth.  As the hour nearly ends, I finally finish drying my hair and go to the bathroom (hoping my empty bladder will last throughout the night.  This is a futile hope).

Saturday, 12:00 a.m.

By now I’m usually settling into a comfortable sleeping position on my side.  I encase myself in pillows and prop my head up just high enough so I can continue to watch TV.  My options now are Archer or another hour of Golden Girls.  Because it’s bathed in gentle and predictable humor, the “Girls” almost always win.

I also finally set my the sleep timer on the TV, because, eventually, I will have to turn it off.  I set if for….almost three hours from that exact second.  (Addicts often have a hard time letting go.)

Saturday, 1:00 a.m.

The first time I’m startled awake.  I am still covered in the glow of the TV, but now it sounds too loud.  I turn it down to almost a whisper.  There.  Surely NOW I will be able to achieve truly restorative sleep- paying no mind to the bright lights emanating from the big box right in front of me.

Saturday, 2:00 a.m.

Once again, I stir awake.  By now, not even Frasier is on the TV.  I finally give up and decide to turn it off, but not before I turn on the radio first.  Even though I never adjust or even touch the damn thing since the last time I used it, the sounds are all static.  I carefully bring my hand over to find a better signal, and accidentally move the volume instead.  Now I have loud static.  I try the other knob for a good few minutes, trying to get somewhere beyond the all-Spanish station and “Everybody Wang Chung Tonight”.  I finally settle on something friendly and monotonous. 

Now I just need to achieve that perfect volume of not too loud and not too soft.  I just barely nudge the dial until I decide on a volume that’s just basically good enough.

Saturday, 3:00 a.m.

Stupid movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose and its stupid declaration that stupid 3 a.m. is the stupid Devil’s hour.  Of course, this is when I wake up, either to pee, or sneeze, or cough, or just stupid because.  Once I’ve calmed my nerves, and turned the volume up a bit, I eventually fall back asleep.

Saturday, 4:00-6:00 a.m.

More tossing and turning.  The dog moves around and jingles her collar.  I need to blow my nose.  I need to pee (again).  I need to turn over from the soreness on my side.  I want to sleep on my back, but fear of hurting the baby forces me the rest of the way over to the other side.  And now the radio sounds too loud.

Saturday, 7:00 a.m.

Georgia scratches herself under her collar and then, for good measure, shakes herself loudly.  She begins whining at me from the floor, urging me to wake up.  Afraid she might pee on the floor, I groggily force myself to my feet.  I stumble around for something to throw on, my eyes still practically shut, and then walk her around the neighborhood.  Well, more like let her drag me around for about fifteen minutes.

Saturday, 8:00 a.m.

I’ve walked her and put fresh food and water out, and now I wander back to the bedroom and collapse on the bed.  With one final bit of strength, I shut the radio off.  After ten long hours, I finally get to sleep. 

It turns out I just needed it to be morning all along.