They told me adults don't really sleep, but I thought that was only after you had kids. I was under the impression that as a childless adults, I would spend my nights in blissful peace, having full control of when I went to sleep and when I woke up. Two things completely shattered this perfect dream.
1. My dumb stupid anxiety
2. My dumb stupid cat
It's always taking me a really, really long time to fall asleep. After staying up half the night reading, I would lay in bed thinking as I watched my clock tick closer to 5:30 a.m. Luckily, my wake-up time is a lot more...flexible now that I don't have to be at work until 2 p.m. You'd think all that extra time to sleep would make me a well-rested and pleasant individual.
It doesn't. Because sleeping has betrayed me. Because of...
Anxiety
I know a lot of people spend all day waiting impatiently to get back into bed, only to find themselves wide wake as soon as their head hits the pillow. I, too, am exhausted all day, but I can't fall asleep when I'm allowed to. Instead my brain goes into overdrive.
I think about all the embarrassing things I've ever done in my life.
I think about how annoying I was in high school.
I think about the time my brother bought a "secret codes" book because he thought it would teach him spy stuff but it was full of video game codes and he was so disappointed (at least it was slightly useful later once he actually started playing video games).
I think about how Matt's bike got stolen off our porch, and how I should have prevented that somehow.
I think about the opening scene in Oliver and Company when all the other cats get adopted except for him and he gets washed down a storm drain.
I think about all the things I did wrong at work and how I'm going to have to fix them the next day.
I think about that one time my friend said something mean to me and how it still hurts a little all these years later.
So there I am, 2-3 in the morning, tossing and turning and flipping my electric blanket on and off, trapped in this weird stress/guilt/embarrassment/empathy cycle. The only way I can fall asleep is to read until I can't keep my eyes open anymore. Probably not healthy, but at least I'm sleeping.
At least, until my second problem enters the picture.
Sophie
I have two cats. I would say I love them like my own children, but I don't know what loving my own children feels like, so I'll just say that they are a very important part of my life.
And they are demons sent from hell to ruin my life.
All cat lovers know there are really only two types of cats: the "admire me from afar" cats and the "I need you to cuddle with me right now" cats. My dear, darling Sophie falls into the latter category.
She needs lots of love and affection and can be very demanding. She gets personally offended if Matt and I are sitting down (especially with a computer) and she isn't on one of our laps.
That's sweet and wonderful and every cat lover's dream...except she also needs attention at five in the morning.
She has this loud, sing-songy meow that she uses to let us know if she's hungry or bored. If she's hungry, you can dump food in the bowl and stumble back to bed. If she's bored, you just have to lay there and pray that Griffin (who sleeps on the bed with us and is mostly not-annoying at night) will get up and go play with her. Otherwise, you're doomed.
Plus, I have highly realistic stress dreams that leave me feeling I just worked a full shift. Or I have nice dreams about being on vacation, so when I wake up I'm sad that I'm stuck in the snow and not on vacation. Even my dreams betray me. I used to have nice dreams about helping Harry destroy the Chamber of Secrets or visiting that candy-land room in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory or flying with my fairy friends. Being an adult even ruins your dreams!!!!!
Why did I wrote this post, complaining about the dumb stupid things that make me constantly tired? Because one of the things I do while I'm tossing and turning and reflecting on my life is write blog posts in my head!! All my body wants to do is sleep, and all my brain wants to do is think about how to properly put all my feelings about not being able to sleep into words. Instead of sleeping, I'm composing a whole novel about how I'm not sleeping, written for an audience that doesn't care if I'm not sleeping, because no one is sleeping, because we're adults and apparently adults don't sleep.
Judy Blume should have prepared me for this.
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