Sleep is a Drug and I Want More

Me: Would you remind me tomorrow to make a doctor’s appointment?
Rick: I reminded you today.
Me: Yes, but I was writing. So I was all la la la, go away.
Rick: Oh doom.
Me: Don’t do that. I was writing! You don’t interrupt writing for frivolous administrative pursuits.
Rick: Like your health and well-being.
Me: Yes! Like my health and well-being.

This being-sick thing is not cool. There’s that whole inability-to-breathe thing and the walking-into-walls thing and the choking-on-air thing, and now the swallowing-disgusting-tablets-like-a-performing-seal thing. But you know what is nice about it? Sleeping.

I realise it’s slightly wrong that when I go to bed after midnight and wake up around five my first instinct is to cry, Yes! But honestly, I can’t remember the last time I slept for more than five hours in a row. I usually sleep in ninety minutes brackets. And although double that isn’t uncommon, it’s about the upper limit.* But if I’m drugged in some way I can sleep for four whole hours, sometimes five. Which is awesome in and of itself. But drugging oneself into unconsciousness** also bypasses the insomniac I would really like to sleep now thing.

Going to bed with painkillers is… like going to sleep used to be. Mellow and soft and a lot further from awake than I usually am. Tired, but not dragged down by exhaustion and scrambled by grogginess, just gently smudged and consciousness fading.Blissed out instead of thinking. And I can feel unconsciousness sidling slowly towards me with confident steps. It’s delightful. I’ve missed it.

 

* Yes, I have the sleeping patterns of an infant. I am aware.

** And yes, I know that’s not a brilliant idea. I only do it when I’m sick. Honest.