Sleep well.
Those aren’t words inked on many forearms.
Sleep well
I was told, “Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Bedbugs? Are there monsters both under and on the bed? I didn’t need to hear that. I was born with a rare condition that caused me to never want to go to bed. This just worsened my problem.
A neighbor had something called insomnia, which caused him to wake up each time his wife turned off the TV.
Many leaves have dropped from the calendar since then. A friend told me he hated to travel because he could never get the alarm set properly on a hotel clock radio. Those radios didn’t receive a great deal of kindness and no longer cared to help humans. I still don’t have a “Sleep well” tattoo on a forearm, but I do have an electric alarm that jolts me awake. It works so well that I wake up before it has a chance to go off and knock me out of the ballpark.
I wake up occasionally to write something unreadable or nonsensical on a notepad on a nightstand. I think my scribblings might provide the meaning of life, but it’s usually something like “sandpapering anvils.”
I wasn’t always good at slumbering, but I’ve become a good sleeper, not a great sleeper. Loud noises wake me – like those made by a lady beetle stomping over my blanket, or a car with all the windows rolled down to demonstrate an impressive sound system, blaring music clamorous enough to be heard in the next galaxy. Each note being capable of disintegrating any kidney stone within a half mile. It must be difficult to drive with both hands over your ears.
I am fortunate because I rarely get cramps in a leg or a foot, especially not in my leg or foot.
I’m not slothful. I tackle a pillow. I want two pillows on the bed. I use both when I’m reading, but only one when I’m sleeping. It has to be a certain one of the two that I sleep upon, but I can never remember which one it is. Before I can confidently decide, I need to sleep on it. I want my pillow to be in the Goldilocks zone– just right.
I need to find the cool side of a pillow. It’s impossible to sleep on the other side. A good pillow is not judgmental. It doesn’t care if I oversleep.
Prayer prayed. Good thoughts thought. Thanks given. Yawn yawned. Snooze beckons. No sheep need to be counted. Someone else had already counted them. Probably a math wizard intent on inflating his accomplishments. There are no mosquitoes in the bedroom yet. Anyone who thinks little things don’t make a difference, has never spent any time trying to sleep in a bedroom with a lone mosquito in it.
I sleep on my left side. It’s a habit. If I sleep on my back, it gives me a hitch in my gitalong. If I sleep on my right side, it seems wrong.
I know sleep can be a long limp for some folks. Shuteye comes to some as easily as sewing a button on a brick wall. A wretched night’s sleep doesn’t do a body any good.
It’s good to wake up with a feeling of accomplishment without having to enumerate sheep. I read before going to sleep. I try to make it a book that is humorous or thoughtful. Uplifting is good. I make a list of things to do the next day. That keeps me from having to think about what I must do instead of sleeping.
I used to kick off the covers, but now I don’t have the energy. And I used to jump out of bed in the morning and say, “I feel great!” Sometimes I said that with too many exclamation points. I don’t do that anymore. I reckon I came down with a case of sanity.
When I was a kid, I had to go to bed by 10. I didn’t like doing that.
Now I’m grown up and I can go to bed anytime I want.
I guess I want to go to bed by 10.
But I sometimes stay up until 10:01.
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