Once upon a time I could sleep. Well, I assume I could. Surely I wouldn’t have got this far in life without it? Plus, my mother used to assure me I slept with my feet in a grow bag, hence being a fairly tall girl. (Taller than my husband.) So in order to grow so proficiently I must have slept, right? I bet I slept at night too. When I was supposed to.
Often I dream of sleeping. Of drifting off into a blissful slumber and waking up refreshed and invigorated (HA!). But even they are daydreams, not those cool dreams you normal folk have.
You see, I don’t sleep anymore. I haven’t slept properly in years. Even if by some small miracle I do drift off, it’s short lived and not particularly restful. If I’m super lucky it’ll be combined with night sweats and bad dreams. The kind of dreams that leave you with a terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach.
More often I just lie here, restless and uncomfortable, wishing sleep would come. I listen to the sounds of the house. My cats milling about, my husband snoring (count to ten, you’d miss him if you smothered him), that random noise that you never quite know what it is. I drink my water like a good girl and make endless trips to the loo like an old lady with bladder issues. I write on Facebook and play games on my phone. I go slowly and quietly mad.
This is my life. If I had any less sleep I could probably start hanging out with the gang from Twilight.
What’s the point of this post?? There isn’t one. I’m rambling. I’m making no sense I imagine. But you know what they say, misery loves company. If you’re awake in the night and reading this, at least you know you’re not alone!
To the rest of you… Sweet dreams. Don’t take your sleep for granted and remember, a tiny part of me kinda hates you for your sleep pattern right now!!