Ah, Sleep, that sweet mistress that lulls your tired soul into a dark and isolated magic land in which you go to bed in a depleted state and awake a new person.
That is, if you can sleep.
You lucky ones who go to bed confident that sleep will be had without anxiety make me jealous. Maybe even enraged. Not at you, of course, but at this repeating curse that makes my life unbearable, one sleepless night at a time.
I wouldn’t say I have insomnia. I’d say I have sleep cycle issues. I will sleep okay for a few months and then BLAMO my life goes into a topsy-turvy space where sleep cannot be had and my thoughts take a turn for the bizarre and my feet become as heavy as lead and work drags on more than normal. I fall asleep at inopportune times, like in the middle of a favorite book or during a conversation, wake up after that magical hour of sleep exhausted, and then move myself to bed. My efforts are fruitless because I never again capture that sweet morsel of relief from the itchy eyes and my barely functioning body with tingling skin.
I lay there trying to manage my breathing and try to lull my heartbeat into a slowed pace that means relief is on its way. I toss, I turn, I sweat, I count sheep, I stare at walls, I watch stupid movies at a near muted level, and yet I never get to dance with the sweet mistress ever again.
I can’t wait until this is over.