Most of my family has issues with sleeping and I thought until recently that I was exempt from that sort of thing. I usually don’t have problems falling asleep at night and in fact, it’s incredibly difficult to keep my eyes open in a car, on a plane, at my desk. . . pretty much anywhere. When I was little, my dad used to take me on bike rides and we had the sort of contraption where I’d sit in the toddler seat right behind his and he’d do all the work. Without fail, a few blocks into every ride he would feel a thump in the middle of his back from my head nodding forward.
Anyway, the past couple of months have been tough for me and I thought it was just due to the move. While I was still in NY just before the trip, I’d stay awake until the sun came up thinking about moving details and running through list after list in my mind. And when I first got to LA, I was up late researching the companies I was interviewing with, thinking about where I wanted to live & settle into my own groove and all of the stuff that I needed to do to get there.
But now I’m settled and I’m still not sleeping. If I’m wiped out exhausted (i.e. from moving and working nearly every muscle in my body to its absolute max), then there isn’t much of an issue but on any typical day, I lie awake for what seems like hours. My mind is still running at warp speed and it takes entirely too long to wind down.
And then there’s Wednesday night. I watched a show on secret CIA interrogation tactics while mindlessly chowing down on chips & salsa. Two things that, at the time, I didn’t realize were such a bad thing. But I thought about it later on and remembered that eating spicy foods are supposed to suppress your sleeping habits if eaten too late at night. I’ve never understood why that’s the case but it’s just as weird as my mom not being able to eat ice cream after dinner or she’ll get nightmares. My guess is that watching shows about torture probably doesn’t help either.
So there I was tossing and turning until oh, about 2:30 a.m. I finally drifted off and seconds later I heard a noise downstairs (my new “bedroom” set-up – if you can even call it that – is a loft). I make it downstairs in a haze and realize that Winston, my charming little feline, has yakked all over the bathroom floor. And it was putrid.
I cleaned it up and checked the clock before heading back upstairs – 3:30 a.m. My thought was that I’d still get a decent amount of sleep since I can squeeze by sleeping in until 8 while still having enough time to throw my face on, pick out something to wear and head out for work in time.
Toss. Turn. Sigh. It was a good hour before I could fall back asleep and I almost wish I couldn’t because I had the worst dreams. In one, I was observing shock tactics and LSD-induced seizures and in another, I was holding a baby that was throwing up and shooting out green liquids all over the place (I know, so gross). I kept looking for its mother, having no idea whose child I was holding, but I couldn’t find anyone.
I woke up about an hour later and decided that sweet dreams just weren’t in my cards that night. Next time, I guess I’ll grudgingly skip the salsa & History Channel after 10pm and maybe finally give in to the idea of melatonin. Something’s gotta give. Any other ideas?
