Sleep
Lately, I’ve been having trouble sleeping and I don’t know why. Why, I must have spent three hours yesterday at Starbucks drinking espressos trying to figure it out.
It’s not falling asleep that’s the problem—a couple pages of analytic philosophy and I’m out—it’s staying asleep. I keep having these nightmares that pull me from slumber. Like last night, I dreamed I was lying in bed dreaming that I was lying in bed; in my dream, I dreamed that I woke up; I wasn’t sure whether I was awake or not, so I pinched myself, but it hurt so bad I couldn’t fall back asleep.
Once I’m awake, I’m awake, which gives me essentially two choices: I can lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, solving all the world’s problems for the next few hours, or I can get up, start my day, and begin feeling exhausted enough for a nap.
Part of my problem is that I don’t really like being in bed; if I had my druthers, I’d only sleep when it’s absolutely essential, like during staff meetings.
I wasn’t always this way; when I was a kid, my parents had to drag me forcibly from bed to get me to school; many times,, I arrived in first period English still wearing my bedclothes (which was particularly problematic when I got to high school age and started sleeping nude.)
In college, my sleeping habits changed a lot. All those late-night study sessions—particularly the ones doing first-person empirical studies of psychedelics—changed my nighttime patterns forever. Many nights I couldn’t even close my eyes without seeing 3-dimensional Grateful Dead album covers strewn across my eyelids. Small wonder I feared even a hint of drowsiness.
Nowadays, I have no such excuse—nor, thankfully, any Dead albums. As far as I can tell, the only reason I can’t sleep is that I’m not sleepy—unlike this essay which I’m sure you’ll agree is totally tired.
It’s not falling asleep that’s the problem—a couple pages of analytic philosophy and I’m out—it’s staying asleep. I keep having these nightmares that pull me from slumber. Like last night, I dreamed I was lying in bed dreaming that I was lying in bed; in my dream, I dreamed that I woke up; I wasn’t sure whether I was awake or not, so I pinched myself, but it hurt so bad I couldn’t fall back asleep.
Once I’m awake, I’m awake, which gives me essentially two choices: I can lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, solving all the world’s problems for the next few hours, or I can get up, start my day, and begin feeling exhausted enough for a nap.
Part of my problem is that I don’t really like being in bed; if I had my druthers, I’d only sleep when it’s absolutely essential, like during staff meetings.
I wasn’t always this way; when I was a kid, my parents had to drag me forcibly from bed to get me to school; many times,, I arrived in first period English still wearing my bedclothes (which was particularly problematic when I got to high school age and started sleeping nude.)
In college, my sleeping habits changed a lot. All those late-night study sessions—particularly the ones doing first-person empirical studies of psychedelics—changed my nighttime patterns forever. Many nights I couldn’t even close my eyes without seeing 3-dimensional Grateful Dead album covers strewn across my eyelids. Small wonder I feared even a hint of drowsiness.
Nowadays, I have no such excuse—nor, thankfully, any Dead albums. As far as I can tell, the only reason I can’t sleep is that I’m not sleepy—unlike this essay which I’m sure you’ll agree is totally tired.
posted by Professor Dave at 11:02 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home