My mood has been mirroring the weather the last few days. Cloudy, grey, and yes, even slightly thunderstormy. I burned my ear this morning with the curling iron and we are out of orange juice. Gloomy, drab, and not very perky.
Two things go hand in hand, or hand in glove, or hand in pocket. These two things are: being 51 and not sleeping. Being 51 is a sure thing. Sleeping is a variable. Sometimes I sleep. sometimes I don’t.
May I just say that I love my bed. The bed is NOT to blame, nor are my lovely sheets nor really wonderful comforters.
I have researched how much light is too much light for optimal sleeping, and have adjusted accordingly. I no longer engage in brain-stimulating activities before sleep. The room is cool. I have de-stressed. I follow the rules. And yet, sleep hides from me.
I’m not a getter-upper in the middle of the night. I’m a lay-there frustrateder. There is a point where you feel like you just might scream. Seriously. Or…call all your girlfriends. Who are probably awake.
My mom says, comfortingly, in a really soothing voice, that this will pass. I believe her, because desperate women believe mothers who speak soothingly. She’s a really smart woman, and I think she knows about this stuff.
I think my mom should talk with my girlfriends.