Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Dream

I have become obsessed with the Sandman. He may not be the god of my forebears, who sleep soundly and snore loudly, but he is my god. And he is an angry god. He has withheld his somnolent blessing from me for years. I must worship him, appease him, appeal to him nightly that I may escape insomnia and be released into sleep.

I am constantly aware of the state of my sleep as I go through my day. I think about how many hours I slept, how often I woke in the night, how groggy I felt upon waking. I think about the time I must rise the next day, and therefore, the time by which I must sleep that night. What I plan for dinner depends on how long before bedtime dinner will be. Later meals must be lighter meals, no exceptions. I keep track of my caffeine intake via Coke; I’ve cut coffee almost entirely out of my life. I slake my thirst early in the day, but drink little in the hours after dark. I never nap.

See, for me, sleep is religion, rife with rules handed down from above. Rigid rules, spoken by the god of sleep, recorded and repeated by doctors. There are a bunch of “thou shalt nots” : No lounging around in bed. No TV-watching in bed. No reading in bed. No nothin’ in bed – except sleep. No late, lovely, romantic dinners. No caffeine after 8pm. No alcohol, at all. And of course, the cardinal rule: Take an Ambien an hour before bed. And pray. All this in an effort to see the face of my god, my Sandman, and achieve a sprinkling of his dust and a full night’s rest.

Following the rules is mandatory, or the Sandman will elude even my sedated self. Those nights, I watch the darkness grey towards dawn in wakeful, headaching misery. However, there is no guarantee that he will show himself to me, even when all the pre-conditions are met. The Sandman is a fickle god and he has never been eager to come my way. My younger self would laugh, and happily pull all-nighters. Older, wiser, more fatigued, I cannot laugh at the anger of the god now. Instead, I wonder, and worry. Did I do all in my power to set up the conditions for sleep? Did I have a bit too much caffeine? Was dessert too much indulgence, too late at night? Have I done something, anything, to chase sleep away?

Will tonight’s entreaty to the Sandman bring me blessing, or a curse?

sunday scribblings: fantasy

Driving to my parents’ house the other day – another mundane trip to pick mom up and schlep her to the doctor’s office. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until pixie dust began to drift from the sky, soft and white in the grey light of winter. It danced along with a pixie’s whims as it came down in flecks and chips and driblets of magic which struck my car and melted, invisible on the windshield and the hood’s black paint. Without thought, my mouth formed the old chant, “I do believe in fairies.” I do. I released the wheel for a second to softly clap my hands. Then, as I hit the gas, I could feel the car rise up from the pavement, accelerating skywards. My steering wheel was set for the second star to the right, winking at me through the morning light and the falling pixie dust.

I blinked, plunged earthward, snapped back from fantasy to reality. I signaled, turned left, stopped on red. Another mundane trip, nothing out of the ordinary.

sunday scribblings - kiss

Tension: palpable. Nerves in overdrive when faced with opportunity after months of "if only..." I can't quite meet his eyes, blue and searching mine for something. Permission to proceed? I am frozen just a heartbeat away from the word yes. I am frozen, tense, tensed. For a moment I can see those years we didn't speak, lost time a gulf between us as we sit side-by-side. But he bridges that gap, rubs my back, gentling me as I think to bolt. His fingers brush through my hair, soothing. I let myself relax. I thaw.

I lean back into his kneading hands, into his arms, warm, welcoming, oddly familiar after all this time. Just what I need. I breathe. His fingers trail up, trace my jawline, tremble against my cheek; his hand a gentle guide turning my face to his. No thought, no pause, I lean into him once more with my eyes closed, lips parted in a silent sigh. We meet midway for just a moment in a kiss that's a question, soft and wondering. Then a second, this one a statement, lips slightly moistened, touching, lingering, pulling slowly away. Less wondering, no less wonderful. Our first (this time around) kiss.

in a word

Most of the time, words reflect reality, but sometimes they carry the power instead to shape it. Inspired by Ali Edwards to tap into that power, I sat down to think of a word, my word, to shape 2007.

Several words for weighty concepts came to mind. Peace, joy, love... after all, who doesn't want more of those in their lives? And then it struck me that while sometimes, wanting is where the power lies because it leads to change, sometimes, wanting weakens, and better isn't found in more. That is the threshold reached when we already have enough.

And that was it. That's my word. What I want most in this new-born year, is to have ENOUGH.

*to be grateful that I have so much and let that be ENOUGH
*to accept my loved ones as they are and know that they're ENOUGH
*to stop accumulating senselessly because I own ENOUGH
*to be met halfway in compromise and say that it's ENOUGH
*to eat no more once my stomach tells me it has had ENOUGH
*to recognize when it's time to step back and say, "ENOUGH"