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| Philippians 4:8 |
Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Meditations
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Sleep Study
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| I feel pretty, oh, so pretty! All wired up so the experts can analyze what goes on while I sleep. |
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Sleep at Last
My husband and light of my life, Stephen, is able to fall asleep (most nights) within about three minutes of his head hitting the pillow. On the other hand, until recently, I routinely tossed and turned for literally hours. At least once a week I just gave up and went downstairs to read.
Recently, however, I have discovered a trick that works for me and might just help my fellow sleep-impaired friends.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Ah, sleep!
As I lay there the other night trying (and failing) to fall asleep, I starting thinking about sleep. And the more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed.
We willingly spend significant chunks of our day comatose, periodically paralyzed and hallucinating, I thought. If we don't get that time, we can actually go insane. Once we fall asleep, most of us have a hard time waking up. At least, I do.
Love not sleep, lest you come to poverty; open your eyes, and you will have plenty of bread. Proverbs 20:13As I reflected, I concluded that even more than being asleep, I love falling asleep. Oh, that sweet drifting! And the irresistible tug of sleep in the morning, my head feeling heavy, my breathing still slow. The pleasure of falling asleep is like falling in love; it's not the actual thing, but it is more thrilling.
He said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. Matthew 9:24For several years, in fact, I experienced a stomach-dropping sensation - like what you experience on a roller-coaster - just as I was falling asleep. It was a little like a panic attack, but without the adrenalin rush. Not unlike the stomach-flip that happens when you see your beloved, in those early passion-laced days.
If you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet. Proverbs 3:24I've only had anesthesia a couple of times, but I know that waking up was the hardest part. I just wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep . . . Quite honestly, I understand how Michael Jackson became addicted to induced sleep. (Not that I excuse his doctor for providing it.)
O sleep! O gentle sleep!Anyone who struggles with insomnia knows the misery of being absolutely bone weary, but completely unable to make that delicious transition from tired to asleep.
Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull’d with sound of sweetest melody?
2 Henry IV (3.1.7-16)
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| Of all the comments I've posted on Twitter, this is the most "favorited." |
For his part, Stephen rarely has trouble falling asleep, but when he's stressed, he often has trouble staying asleep. A friend of mine has the same problem.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instrumentsI think either one is bad. It means we aren't getting our rest.
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That, if I then had wak’d after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d
I cried to dream again.
The Tempest (3.2.96-104)
Weekends, of course, are positively rife with potential to sleep: Naps! Sleep late! Go to bed early! (If that's your thing.)
On that note, I will wish you a good weekend and sweet dreams. I am off to read in bed and sleep in tomorrow morning!
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Insomnia
We had our first real snowstorm the other night. While Steve and I dug into a bagful of popcorn and watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the flakes drifted gently down and blanketed our car. We drove home in the muffled winter that glowed yellow as street lamps lit the drifting crystals.
Arriving home, we worried that our car might not make it up the driveway, but our snow tires gripped and carried us safely into the garage.
I was restless, not tired. Perhaps the root beer at the theatre was caffeinated; perhaps I was haunted by Lisbeth Salander's wary eyes and solitariness in the world. Finally, I climbed our squeaky stairs and glanced into our son's bedroom on the way to my own.
Through his bedroom window, I saw that the storm had picked up steam. I went back downstairs and grabbed my camera.
It is always brighter than one expects when it snows, the meagre night-time light reflecting off so many prisms. One full fifth of a second captured the trajectory of the snow. To the naked eye it simply fell; to the lens it threw itself down. No longer a gentle prayer, it was now a loud fury driving winter to ground.
I watched for a long while, the beeps of plows drifting through from the major thoroughfares.
I went back to bed and tried (in vain) to sleep. When I came back down, the plows had visited our quiet street and the snow had tapered off.
Still golden, still magical.
Dawn came almost imperceptibly and still I could not sleep. Steve woke up and we went for a walk. I KNOW! I WALKED! Outdoors, even. What's more, it was my idea! All so I could take some pictures.
But I had dawdled too long in my hunt for the right boots and gloves. Twenty minutes earlier, this tunnel through the forest would have been aglow like the forest in Narnia. Still, it beckoned.
As we walked through the forest, the light turned blue as the sun tried to burn through the clouds.
Snow still clung to trunks, not yet disturbed by wind and dogs and cross-country skiers.
We scurried as we turned around and headed out of the forest and into the biting wind.
The park was abandoned.
It was good to step inside, instantly blind as our glasses coated with steam. And I settled down to a hot coffee and slid the memory card into my laptop to see what treasures the lens had captured this time.
All this, and it wasn't even eight in the morning. Those morning larks may be on to something, but I'll never let on.
Arriving home, we worried that our car might not make it up the driveway, but our snow tires gripped and carried us safely into the garage.
I was restless, not tired. Perhaps the root beer at the theatre was caffeinated; perhaps I was haunted by Lisbeth Salander's wary eyes and solitariness in the world. Finally, I climbed our squeaky stairs and glanced into our son's bedroom on the way to my own.
Through his bedroom window, I saw that the storm had picked up steam. I went back downstairs and grabbed my camera.
It is always brighter than one expects when it snows, the meagre night-time light reflecting off so many prisms. One full fifth of a second captured the trajectory of the snow. To the naked eye it simply fell; to the lens it threw itself down. No longer a gentle prayer, it was now a loud fury driving winter to ground.
I watched for a long while, the beeps of plows drifting through from the major thoroughfares.
I went back to bed and tried (in vain) to sleep. When I came back down, the plows had visited our quiet street and the snow had tapered off.
Still golden, still magical.
Dawn came almost imperceptibly and still I could not sleep. Steve woke up and we went for a walk. I KNOW! I WALKED! Outdoors, even. What's more, it was my idea! All so I could take some pictures.
But I had dawdled too long in my hunt for the right boots and gloves. Twenty minutes earlier, this tunnel through the forest would have been aglow like the forest in Narnia. Still, it beckoned.
As we walked through the forest, the light turned blue as the sun tried to burn through the clouds.
Snow still clung to trunks, not yet disturbed by wind and dogs and cross-country skiers.
We scurried as we turned around and headed out of the forest and into the biting wind.
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| Sad elephant is sad. |
The park was abandoned.
It was good to step inside, instantly blind as our glasses coated with steam. And I settled down to a hot coffee and slid the memory card into my laptop to see what treasures the lens had captured this time.
All this, and it wasn't even eight in the morning. Those morning larks may be on to something, but I'll never let on.
Monday, September 12, 2011
A new name game
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| Could this be Ipetrya? Source: PartyPM (I won't link to their site because it's quite NSFW.) |
I just finished reading the Hunger Games trilogy, and wondered how the author came up with the characters' names. I know the old [middle name] + [street name from your youth] trick, but for sci-fi or any fantasy genre, that doesn't always work.
And then I had a night of insomnia. As I lay there not sleeping, I played around with things you could do to a "normal" North American name that would make it sound out-of-this-world. Here's what I came up with.
STEP 1: Syllable Swap
If your name has two or more syllables take any of the later syllables and move it to the front. If you have a one-syllable name, proceed to Step 2.
Wynn Anne => Anne Wynn
Katharine => Akathrine
Emily => Ilemy
Peter => Terpe
Brian => Anbri
Not bad so far, though my own is pretty boring.
STEP 2: Consonant Substitution
Take the first consonant and substitute it with the one three further in the alphabet. So W becomes Z, C becomes G, and so on. If your first consonant is part of a consonant blend, substitute any different consonant blend. So, ST could be CH, for example.
Wynn Anne => Anne Wynn
=> Arne Wynn
Katharine => Akathrine
=> Anathrine
Emily => Ilemy
=> Ipemy
Peter => Terpe
=> Xerpe
Brian => Anbri
=> Arbri
Steve => Cheve
Joe => Moe
Looking better. Some of the names are already completely unrecognizable.
STEP 3: Add a Vowel
Any vowel, anywhere.
Wynn Anne => Anne Wynn
=> Arne Wynn
=> Arine Wynn
Katharine => Akathrine
=> Anathrine
=> Anathrione
Emily => Ilemy
=> Ipemy
=> Ipemya
Peter => Terpe
=> Xerpe
=> Xeripe
Brian => Anbri
=> Arbri
=> Arbriu
Steve => Cheve
=> Chaeve
Joe => Moe
=> Moye
STEP 4: More Consonant Fun
Using one of the following, either swap out a consonant or add to the end.
G, K, L, M, CH, TR
Wynn Anne => Anne Wynn
=> Arne Wynn
=> Arine Wynn
=> Arine Wyng
Katharine => Akathrine
=> Anathrine
=> Anathrione
=> Anathrioche
Emily => Ilemy
=> Ipemy
=> Ipemya
=> Ipetrya
Peter => Terpe
=> Xerpe
=> Xeripe
=> Xeripem
Brian => Anbri
=> Arbri
=> Arbriu
=> Arbriuk
Steve => Cheve
=> Chaeve
=> Chaele
Joe => Moe
=> Moye
=> Moyeg
STEP 5: Add an Evil Syllable
To help your readers identify a bad guy, add one of these two to the end of the name:
OL or SK
Wynn Anne => Anne Wynn
=> Arne Wynn
=> Arine Wynn
=> ArineWyng
=> Arine Wyngol
Katharine => Akathrine
=> Anathrine
=> Anathrione
=> Anathrioche
=> Anathriochesk [hm. we may have gone too far on this one.]
Emily => Ilemy
=> Ipemy
=> Ipemya
=> Ipetrya
=> Ipetryask
Peter => Terpe
=> Xerpe
=> Xeripe
=> Xeripem
=> Xeripemol [this sounds like an enzyme or something. Should I suggest it to Pfizer?]
Brian => Anbri
=> Arbri
=> Arbriu
=> Arbriuk
=> Arbriuksk
Steve => Cheve
=> Chaeve
=> Chaele
=> Chaeleol
Joe => Moe
=> Moye
=> Moyeg
=> Moyegol
Yes, I had a really, really hard time falling asleep that night.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Photo Class: Old
Another photography post. My niece, Diane, found a free on-line photography course, and I decided to jump on the bandwagon, even though I haven't bought my SLR camera yet. So, here we go. The theme for lesson number one is "Old." I considered cheating and using a photo I had already taken:
Instead, I also followed Diane's lead in photographing something heirloom. I decided to snap a few pictures of a droll little porcelain "flower-hat" doll head vase thing [I don't know what to call this!] She was part of Steve's grandmother's cherished collection, and holds a special place in our home.
Unfortunately, my camera was enthralled with the crystal tumblers in the background and kept focusing on them! See?
This is where a manual focus would really help. This one was about the best I could do.
While I was there, I decided to take a snap of the tumblers I gave Steve for his Golden Jubilee.
I like that one. And I suppose it could even fit the theme since, although they were purchased recently, they do belong to the old man who is my husband! (We suit each other that way.)
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| See what I mean? I've earned every one of those lines. Also would work for "worried." Do I always look like that? |
Unfortunately, my camera was enthralled with the crystal tumblers in the background and kept focusing on them! See?
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| You may not really be able to see unless you click on it to enlarge. |
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| Doesn't she remind you of Mae West? |
I like that one. And I suppose it could even fit the theme since, although they were purchased recently, they do belong to the old man who is my husband! (We suit each other that way.)
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Insomnia Cycle
Here's how it happens.
3:00 p.m. (That's 1500 hrs in mil-speak.): post-lunch hypoglycemia kicks in. If you are in a location where you can become horizontal, do so. Bus stations, fainting couches, mattresses at Sears ... find something soft and grab some Z's. Failing that, go to the restroom. Rest your forehead on your crossed arms and pray you don't fall off the toilet. (Just in case: make sure you wipe before you fall asleep.)
4:00 p.m. (1600 hrs): Attend meeting in overly warm conference room with dim lighting and poor ventilation. Ensure it is on a topic to which you have no real input. Allow your eyelids to flutter at half-mast while gazing at the speaker, but don't actually allow your eyes to shut (if you do, you are doomed). Amuse yourself by zig-zagging your eyes horizontally. Stab yourself in the palm of your hand with a mechanical pencil.
5:00 p.m. (Enough of this mil-speak crap; it requires too much Math.): Shut down your computer, throw out all your lunch leftovers, pack your bag, wrap yourself in umpteen layers of wool, Goretex, and fur (if it's winter) and trudge through the sleet/snow/-30 weather and head home.
5:20 p.m.: Hope you are lucky enough to get a seat on the bus, rather than having to grip a virus-laden steel pole all the way home. If you do get a seat, sleep lightly while gripping your purse/backpack/briefcase/iPod tightly lest it be stolen. Try not to let your head touch the Brylcreem smudge left on the window by the previous passenger. Pray that there are no perverts in arm's reach.
6:00 p.m.: Dinner.
7:00 p.m.: Remind yourself that, if you can just hang in there for One. More. Hour. you will be able to simply go to bed early and wake up refreshed in the morning.
8:30 p.m.: Brush teeth, put on jammies, climb into bed with a good (but not TOO good) book. Allow your head to feel heavy. Practice the horizontal-eye-movement thing.
9:30 p.m.: Turn off your e-book. Make sure alarm is set. Put on sleep mask. Put fluffy sock on your hand because warmth helps soothe arthritis. (It really works. Would I lie to you?)
10:00 p.m.: Snuggle up to your Lord and Light of Your Eyes, who miraculously generates more heat than the Large Hadron Collider, even though he could have been mistaken for a 24-hours-dead corpse mere moments before. (Note: heat-generating ability of the LHC is speculative, but surely you can't make that kind of mess - with mini-bangs and all - without generating a little heat?) (Note: that was not meant to be a naughty allusion. I really was talking about the LHC, not the Bone of My Nose.)
10:05 p.m.: Have hot flash. Move away from Lord and Treasure of Your Soul. Sprawl.
10:07 p.m.: Start to drowse. Lord and Regent of Your Existence twitches. Violently. Enjoy the rush of adrenalin coursing through your veins as you tell yourself that you are not actually under attack.
10:10 p.m.: Toss.
10:15 p.m.: Turn.
10:20 p.m.: Throw off blankets.
10:25 p.m.: Pull blankets over head to compensate for chill as house temperature drops to night-time setting.
11:00 p.m.: Stomach grumbles.
11:05 p.m.: Remember that there are two Mallomars left. If you do not eat them tonight, the kids will get them tomorrow. This is not acceptable. Clearly. Two Mallomars cannot be easily divided between three children. Someone will end up angry.
11:15 p.m.: Stomach grumbles again. Mallomars send telepathic message that they are feeling unloved.
11:20 p.m.: Remove sleep mask and fluffy sock. Sneak out of bedroom so as not to disturb the Lord and Light of Your Eyes.
11:21 p.m.: Sip hot chocolate spiked with Bailey's while nibbling on Mallomar and booting up the laptop. [WARNING: You have now committed a fatal error.] Check e-mail. Check Facebook. Check bank accounts. Pay bills. Visit favourite blogs. Visit favourite humour sites.
12:00 a.m.: Realize you've reached the bottom of the Internet. There is nothing funny or enlightening left for you to discover.
12:01 a.m.: Click on a new link on one of your favourite blogs. Discover NEW favourite blog. Read ten pages of the blog. Click the "older posts" link Just. One. More. Time.
3:00 a.m. (That's zero-three-hundred in mil-speak. The zero is important.): Glance at clock. Smack self on forehead. Realize you will never read the entire blog in one night and that you now have only four hours left for your beauty sleep. Go to bed.
7:00 a.m.: Hit snooze button.
7:03 a.m.: Stumble downstairs to turn off the alarm on your cell phone. (Purposely left downstairs for this reason.) Make coffee.
We won't go through the rest of the day, because you know how it ends up, don't you?
Welp. I'm off to bed (again) now. Still a good six hours left to get my beauty sleep.
3:00 p.m. (That's 1500 hrs in mil-speak.): post-lunch hypoglycemia kicks in. If you are in a location where you can become horizontal, do so. Bus stations, fainting couches, mattresses at Sears ... find something soft and grab some Z's. Failing that, go to the restroom. Rest your forehead on your crossed arms and pray you don't fall off the toilet. (Just in case: make sure you wipe before you fall asleep.)
4:00 p.m. (1600 hrs): Attend meeting in overly warm conference room with dim lighting and poor ventilation. Ensure it is on a topic to which you have no real input. Allow your eyelids to flutter at half-mast while gazing at the speaker, but don't actually allow your eyes to shut (if you do, you are doomed). Amuse yourself by zig-zagging your eyes horizontally. Stab yourself in the palm of your hand with a mechanical pencil.
5:00 p.m. (Enough of this mil-speak crap; it requires too much Math.): Shut down your computer, throw out all your lunch leftovers, pack your bag, wrap yourself in umpteen layers of wool, Goretex, and fur (if it's winter) and trudge through the sleet/snow/-30 weather and head home.
5:20 p.m.: Hope you are lucky enough to get a seat on the bus, rather than having to grip a virus-laden steel pole all the way home. If you do get a seat, sleep lightly while gripping your purse/backpack/briefcase/iPod tightly lest it be stolen. Try not to let your head touch the Brylcreem smudge left on the window by the previous passenger. Pray that there are no perverts in arm's reach.
6:00 p.m.: Dinner.
7:00 p.m.: Remind yourself that, if you can just hang in there for One. More. Hour. you will be able to simply go to bed early and wake up refreshed in the morning.
8:30 p.m.: Brush teeth, put on jammies, climb into bed with a good (but not TOO good) book. Allow your head to feel heavy. Practice the horizontal-eye-movement thing.
9:30 p.m.: Turn off your e-book. Make sure alarm is set. Put on sleep mask. Put fluffy sock on your hand because warmth helps soothe arthritis. (It really works. Would I lie to you?)
10:00 p.m.: Snuggle up to your Lord and Light of Your Eyes, who miraculously generates more heat than the Large Hadron Collider, even though he could have been mistaken for a 24-hours-dead corpse mere moments before. (Note: heat-generating ability of the LHC is speculative, but surely you can't make that kind of mess - with mini-bangs and all - without generating a little heat?) (Note: that was not meant to be a naughty allusion. I really was talking about the LHC, not the Bone of My Nose.)
10:05 p.m.: Have hot flash. Move away from Lord and Treasure of Your Soul. Sprawl.
10:07 p.m.: Start to drowse. Lord and Regent of Your Existence twitches. Violently. Enjoy the rush of adrenalin coursing through your veins as you tell yourself that you are not actually under attack.
10:10 p.m.: Toss.
10:15 p.m.: Turn.
10:20 p.m.: Throw off blankets.
10:25 p.m.: Pull blankets over head to compensate for chill as house temperature drops to night-time setting.
11:00 p.m.: Stomach grumbles.
11:05 p.m.: Remember that there are two Mallomars left. If you do not eat them tonight, the kids will get them tomorrow. This is not acceptable. Clearly. Two Mallomars cannot be easily divided between three children. Someone will end up angry.
11:15 p.m.: Stomach grumbles again. Mallomars send telepathic message that they are feeling unloved.
11:20 p.m.: Remove sleep mask and fluffy sock. Sneak out of bedroom so as not to disturb the Lord and Light of Your Eyes.
11:21 p.m.: Sip hot chocolate spiked with Bailey's while nibbling on Mallomar and booting up the laptop. [WARNING: You have now committed a fatal error.] Check e-mail. Check Facebook. Check bank accounts. Pay bills. Visit favourite blogs. Visit favourite humour sites.
12:00 a.m.: Realize you've reached the bottom of the Internet. There is nothing funny or enlightening left for you to discover.
12:01 a.m.: Click on a new link on one of your favourite blogs. Discover NEW favourite blog. Read ten pages of the blog. Click the "older posts" link Just. One. More. Time.
3:00 a.m. (That's zero-three-hundred in mil-speak. The zero is important.): Glance at clock. Smack self on forehead. Realize you will never read the entire blog in one night and that you now have only four hours left for your beauty sleep. Go to bed.
7:00 a.m.: Hit snooze button.
7:03 a.m.: Stumble downstairs to turn off the alarm on your cell phone. (Purposely left downstairs for this reason.) Make coffee.
We won't go through the rest of the day, because you know how it ends up, don't you?
Welp. I'm off to bed (again) now. Still a good six hours left to get my beauty sleep.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
What was I just saying?
Last night as I drifted off to dreamland, I had a brilliant idea for a blog post. A perfect balance between humour and insight, with just a touch of mommy-blog thrown in. Then I fell asleep.
Unfortunately for you, I could not remember what that idea was. Several times throughout the day, I got the feeling that the idea was just, just out of reach. Like when you're searching for a word or a name.
This kind of thing happens to me with alarming frequency these days. Just last weekend, I was shopping for Steve's birthday present (he's turning 50!). The store I was at didn't have what I was looking for, but while there I remembered that I also wanted a proper cake stand with a cover. (A little self-indulgent shopping is allowed.) I walked to the other side of the aisle - no more than 3 seconds away - and completely, COMPLETELY forgot what I was looking for. It was gone. Phhhhp! Gone. Like mercury on a cracked floor. (I did that once. Twice, actually.)
Anyway, my shopping goal had vanished. All except for a niggling sense that I was no longer just idly browsing, but had a Purpose, an Intent. (And had a sudden propensity for Germanic capitalization. Actually, it's A. A. Milnes-ian capitalization, if you must know. It means Something is Important.)
I stopped. I looked around. Nothing. I tried mentally retracing my steps, to no avail. Finally, I walked back to where I had been and glanced along the shelves. My eyes lighted upon a completely unrelated item, which just happened to be the thing I had looked when I remembered the cake stand. Would you believe that I suddenly remembered the cake stand?
The store didn't have what I was (secondarily) looking for, but that's beside the point. The point is: I appear to be losing my marbles.
Oh, sure, you're thinking, "Oh, that happens to me all the time. It's normal, just a sign that you're overworked, overstressed, under-slept." ("Underslept"? WTF? Sleep-deprived!)
This post has now gone over-the-edge with asides, capitalization and general nonsense. Sorry. This is Serious. (A. A. Milnes-ian capitalization again. Incidentally, you have to read those words with special intonation to acknowledge the importance.)
Anyone whose family has been touched by Alzheimers must have these fleeting or lasting worries. My forgetfulness is undoubtedly normal. Especially for someone with ADHD. This isn't the first time I've obsessed over this. I actually had a brain MRI (or was it a CT? Can they even do that? Can CT scans go through skulls?). Plus, there's just normal aging. I'm almost 50 (in a year and a half)!
Believe it or not, all of this, all 458 words of it, is an apologia for not having a really interesting post for you today. So, um, sorry about that. If I remember what I wanted to write about, I will.
*Musical interlude. Visit our snack bar for a refreshing, cold drink and a super-sized popcorn! (Grab me some Twizzlers while you're there. Unless they have Goodies/Good 'n' Plenty. In which case, get me some of those.)*When I awoke, I remembered that I had had a Good Idea. Yay!
Unfortunately for you, I could not remember what that idea was. Several times throughout the day, I got the feeling that the idea was just, just out of reach. Like when you're searching for a word or a name.
This kind of thing happens to me with alarming frequency these days. Just last weekend, I was shopping for Steve's birthday present (he's turning 50!). The store I was at didn't have what I was looking for, but while there I remembered that I also wanted a proper cake stand with a cover. (A little self-indulgent shopping is allowed.) I walked to the other side of the aisle - no more than 3 seconds away - and completely, COMPLETELY forgot what I was looking for. It was gone. Phhhhp! Gone. Like mercury on a cracked floor. (I did that once. Twice, actually.)
Anyway, my shopping goal had vanished. All except for a niggling sense that I was no longer just idly browsing, but had a Purpose, an Intent. (And had a sudden propensity for Germanic capitalization. Actually, it's A. A. Milnes-ian capitalization, if you must know. It means Something is Important.)
I stopped. I looked around. Nothing. I tried mentally retracing my steps, to no avail. Finally, I walked back to where I had been and glanced along the shelves. My eyes lighted upon a completely unrelated item, which just happened to be the thing I had looked when I remembered the cake stand. Would you believe that I suddenly remembered the cake stand?
The store didn't have what I was (secondarily) looking for, but that's beside the point. The point is: I appear to be losing my marbles.
Oh, sure, you're thinking, "Oh, that happens to me all the time. It's normal, just a sign that you're overworked, overstressed, under-slept." ("Underslept"? WTF? Sleep-deprived!)
This post has now gone over-the-edge with asides, capitalization and general nonsense. Sorry. This is Serious. (A. A. Milnes-ian capitalization again. Incidentally, you have to read those words with special intonation to acknowledge the importance.)
Anyone whose family has been touched by Alzheimers must have these fleeting or lasting worries. My forgetfulness is undoubtedly normal. Especially for someone with ADHD. This isn't the first time I've obsessed over this. I actually had a brain MRI (or was it a CT? Can they even do that? Can CT scans go through skulls?). Plus, there's just normal aging. I'm almost 50 (in a year and a half)!
Believe it or not, all of this, all 458 words of it, is an apologia for not having a really interesting post for you today. So, um, sorry about that. If I remember what I wanted to write about, I will.
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| This is a neuron. |
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| This is a neuron with Alzheimer's. |
Sunday, June 6, 2010
What goes on at 4 in the morning?
Answer: generally, not much.
However, the night before last, there was a murder in my backyard. Yep, you read correctly: a murder went down in my backyard. And last night there was another attempted murder. I know because I just happened to be awake (yeah insomnia) and heard all the ruckus. Plus, Peter has discovered the body: a dead baby bird. Not, um, recently dead, but beginning to turn into the dust from which it came. Not being an ornithologist, I can't tell you what kind of bird it was.
At about 4:00 both mornings, as I tossed and turned, willing myself to fall asleep before the sun rose, I was serenaded by increasingly alarmed chirps. Man, those birds are LOUD when someone tries to turn their babies into breakfast! There is no sleeping through that, let me tell you.
Being the selfish person I am, and also believing that, hey, raptors gotta eat too, I kind of hope that's the last of the babies in the nest, so I won't have to listen to the dreadful terror of the bird-mamma again tonight. I just want a good night's sleep.
However, the night before last, there was a murder in my backyard. Yep, you read correctly: a murder went down in my backyard. And last night there was another attempted murder. I know because I just happened to be awake (yeah insomnia) and heard all the ruckus. Plus, Peter has discovered the body: a dead baby bird. Not, um, recently dead, but beginning to turn into the dust from which it came. Not being an ornithologist, I can't tell you what kind of bird it was.
At about 4:00 both mornings, as I tossed and turned, willing myself to fall asleep before the sun rose, I was serenaded by increasingly alarmed chirps. Man, those birds are LOUD when someone tries to turn their babies into breakfast! There is no sleeping through that, let me tell you.
Being the selfish person I am, and also believing that, hey, raptors gotta eat too, I kind of hope that's the last of the babies in the nest, so I won't have to listen to the dreadful terror of the bird-mamma again tonight. I just want a good night's sleep.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday-night Insomnia
Groannn. It happens to me almost every Sunday night: I go upstairs at a reasonable hour (9:30), brush my teeth, get into my jammies and read a book, hoping to feel drowsy at around 10:00. Doesn't happen.
Last night, both Steve and I tossed & turned, fussing with blankets and pillows. I even tried some relaxation exercises, to no avail. After a while, Brian came in and said he was scared, so I went and snuggled him in his bed. Often that will make me sleepy. This time: fail. (Though Steve had finally drifted into the land of slumber.)
So I got up and read a chapter of my new book ("Big Stone Gap" - good book, so far, but not great). I had a glass of wine and a sliver of cheddar. When I found myself feeling head-heavy, I climbed back upstairs and finally fell asleep at about 2:30.
Needless to say, it was brutally hard to get up when the alarm chirped at 06:30 this morning!
I've heard that Sunday-night insomnia is common as people get stressed out thinking about the coming week. What about you? Do you have trouble on Sunday nights? What tricks do you use to deal with it?
Last night, both Steve and I tossed & turned, fussing with blankets and pillows. I even tried some relaxation exercises, to no avail. After a while, Brian came in and said he was scared, so I went and snuggled him in his bed. Often that will make me sleepy. This time: fail. (Though Steve had finally drifted into the land of slumber.)
So I got up and read a chapter of my new book ("Big Stone Gap" - good book, so far, but not great). I had a glass of wine and a sliver of cheddar. When I found myself feeling head-heavy, I climbed back upstairs and finally fell asleep at about 2:30.
Needless to say, it was brutally hard to get up when the alarm chirped at 06:30 this morning!
I've heard that Sunday-night insomnia is common as people get stressed out thinking about the coming week. What about you? Do you have trouble on Sunday nights? What tricks do you use to deal with it?
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