I don’t know if this is from stress or perimenopausal or just another symptom of whatever is going on with me, but I’ve not been sleeping well at all lately. I head to bed around eight, light a vanilla spice tea light, read a little, play a little Words With Friends, squeeze in between Tucker and Sweet Pea, burrow under the covers, and off to la-la land…for a few hours.
Eleven o’clock rolls around and I’m awake and burning up. I don’t want to open my eyes because I’m afraid of the clock. I don’t want to see I’ve only been asleep a few hours and have the entire night yet ahead of me. I give in, force my eyes open. Evil clock angrily glaring a little past eleven back at me. I groan. I push down the covers and swap out pillows for one that feels cooler, try to turn over between the two dogs pinning my legs under blanket and comforter. I shut my eyes, offer up a prayer for some help to fall back to sleep, then toss and turn until finally drifting off again for another few hours.
Same thing happens all over again around two. Burning up once more and even angrier, I don’t know if I’d be better to get up for a little while, or to just stay in bed. I look at my phone, maybe somebody left me a text in the middle of the night. Not usually. Everyone else is sleeping. The dogs are snoring. The heat comes on and blows raucously. I’ve given up my ear plugs since Bill is away, just in case Michael would need me during the night. Maybe that’s part of it. Maybe the noise of the dogs snoring and the heat blowing is what’s waking me up.
I resign myself to try to get back to sleep. Drink whatever remains in my water bottle from bedtime. Lay half covered, half uncovered, crookedly wrapped around and between the dogs-no wonder my back protests in the morning. Hoping the clock will read some time after four the next time I look upon it…I don’t like this getting old business, not one bit.