Me vs. Alarm Clock
They say adults should get about 7 hours of sleep. Why do the kids get to hoard all the slumber?
Anyway, I shouldn’t be upset with the kids. But direct my angst instead toward the alarm clocks. And the guys who make those form-fitting mattresses. What tremendous pressure they put on us?
If you tell me I need seven hours of sleep to function, I believe you. I wake up around 7:30 in the morning. Which would mean by about 2:30 am I had better be dreaming of wolves in clown costumes, well into my REM stage. But you can’t think about falling asleep¾it just magically happens every night. It’s like waiting for the darkness, then all of the sudden it’s there and you didn’t even blink. Or like going under the knife for a hernia operation. You think, “of course I’ll be able to count to ten,” and next thing you know, you wake up in the PAC U with a missing spleen and a Jewish nose.
There are all sorts of situations you’ll encounter when during this epic battle but here’s the worst scenario: You wake up exactly one minute before your alarm was going to ruthlessly bring you into the world again. Yup, those damn 60 seconds of unsolicited rest.
It’s a game really, or maybe I’m just a bit neurotic. Say you go to bed early one night and get up at the usual time: Too much sleep = tired. You go to bed late and flirt with the alarm clock all evening: Too little sleep = tired. Or, you go to bed at the usual time and try to beat the clock by taking a sleeping pill: Too groggy in the morning = tired. Just face it¾we’ll never reach the pinnacle of restful slumber.
I don’t understand why it’s so hard at night. A nap during the middle of the day? I’ll be drooling in minutes. I could even pass out on the toilet at the office during mid-afternoon. But give me a glass of Chamomile tea, a form-fitting Tempur-pedic mattress, head pillow, body pillow, the fan on low, a down comforter and the Amazon rainforest playing on the radio with absolutely nothing on my agenda but sleep? I just can’t do it; too much pressure.
I think having the bed specifically designed to a room was just a bad idea. Somehow, The Pavlov experiment has been reversed on me. I know when I see bed, I’m supposed to think sleep, but I’ve become conditioned to think, “What the hell do I have to do tomorrow?” I never had trouble falling asleep curled up in the back of the family van. Apparently, I never had trouble dosing off at my desk in grade school. And, the couch after dinner? You’d think I was a narcoleptic.
They say you should read 15 minutes before bed. I try to finish the book. They say you should watch TV to put you to sleep. I wonder if Seinfeld is on next. It’s hopeless. Maybe I should try one of those corvette beds you lust after as a kid? No, forget the drugs and form-fitting mattresses. Give me a simulated bed that recreates the feeling of being in the back of my Mom’s mini van, spread out on the third bench. No pressure there.
Well, it’s 7:45 pm and I have to start coaching myself to sleep.
