Insomia Choreography

Please note: The information below is not medically advised information.  I am not claiming that this is a good way to live or be or behave.  I know there are a million things I could do differently.  That is why I do all of the berating of myself (see below). This is supposed to be funny, not a cry for help or a request for homeopathic methods to transform me into a person who can navigate a stressful life and still sleep ten blissful hours.  Just read and laugh.  :) 

The past two nights could be the foundational choreography for an interpretive dance entitled "Insomnia."  I begin the evening pledging to go to bed early.  I announce this pledge to my family members.  I then postpone the evening chores while I sit on my couch watching episodes of Outdaughtered.  I try to wash the dishes with the power of my mind.  It does not work.  At about the time I'm supposed to go to sleep, I bitterly begin the dishes and get the dishwasher going.  I feed the dogs and let them have one last bathroom break outside.

Then, I flop on my bed and bitterly complain in my head about how it stinks that going to bed is so much work.  I look at Facebook and Instagram and wonder how I have such interesting friends when I'm so dull and basic.  An hour later, I go to the bathroom and survey the tired reflection.  I scold myself aloud for not going to bed hours ago.  I make a vow that tomorrow will be different.  I will eat the right foods, do the right activities, say the right things, and go to bed at exactly 9 p.m.  I wash my face and brush my teeth and think about flossing them but don't because it's just too much work.  

I go back to bed and log into my phone to turn on my alarm.  I get distracted by facebook and instagram and twitter and random youtube videos.  I scold myself for wasting more time and turn off my light and put my phone away.  I remember that I never set my alarm and log back into my phone. I again get distracted by all of the things interwebby.  I repeat this cycle at least two times more. 

After I finally set my alarm, I close my eyes and pray for deep, healing slumber.  I lie there.  I squirm.  I roll over.  I roll back.  I try to tell stories in my brain that are pleasant but simple and dull.  I glance at the time and start to panic.  I tell myself that this isn't even hard.  We are biologically programmed to sleep, so just sleep already.  I go to the bathroom.  I read the book on my nightstand for a while.  

I go out to the couch and sprawl there hoping that a change of scenery will do the trick.  I remember the melatonin in the bathroom and take one capsule more than is recommended because this is desperation time.  I berate myself for not remembering the melatonin at 10 p.m.  I catalog all the ways I suck.  I think about Donald Trump, my classroom, my students, my kids, my friends, my future, my kids' future, how I really need to visit my grandma, how I haven't emailed my dad in a long time and I get anxious and feel pretty convinced that I'm a pretty awful person and that the world is going to hell.  I vow to do better in all things...tomorrow.  

At some point, despite all odds, I actually fall asleep and stay mostly asleep for about four hours. I wake up feeling like I challenged Mike Tyson to a friendly boxing match.  I look in the mirror and decide that I actually look like I challenged Mike Tyson to a friendly boxing match.  I try to remember what models use to reduce the puffiness in their eyes so people don't know they abuse cocaine to stay so skinny.  I realize that I probably don't have anything like that, so I use the eye cream I bought on clearance at Target about five years ago.  It does not magically turn me into a supermodel.  

I go out to the kitchen and make coffee.  I contemplate putting on actual clothes and maybe even taking a shower.  I decide that there is no fixing this hot mess, so I put on athleisure clothes and a headband.  I tell myself that maybe people will think I just did a really hard workout and that's why I look so awful.  I realize that is not likely.  I think about doing one of the Tabata workouts on my iphone app and wonder if that will be the thing that helps me turn over a new leaf.  I think about that some more as I roll the yoga mat out on my floor.  I lie on the yoga mat and think about actually turning on the app.  I decide that it was enough to think about doing the exercise and that no one would expect someone this tired to actually do exercise.  

I do the business of the day all while feeling like I"m wearing a helmet of pain.  I work in my classroom and fantasize about taking a nap in my bucket chair.  I wonder if the rug I put on my floor is comfy and think about just lying on it for a second.  I drink coffee and then some diet coke to wake up so I can be productive.  I repeatedly tell myself all day long that I WILL actually go to bed on time today.  

I go home and make that announcement, again, to my family.  

Lather, rinse, repeat.  I need to hire a new choreographer.