Average night in the Rusty Household:
Feel exhausted go to bed. Close eyes and think happy thoughts (ie, spin hot guy wheel. What will it be tonight? Shirtless Johnny Depp, shirtless Christian Bale (Batman Begins only), shirtless Jensen Ackles, shirtless Viggo Mortensen (Aragorn version only, he really needs to be grotty and dirty or it's a no go), shirtless Dave Grohl (don't ask me why, but the man has that weird musician hot thing going on, besides have you heard the acoustic version of Everlong? mmmmm), shirtless....well you get the picture).
Still wide awake. Spin hot guy wheel again, "why yes Batman I would like a back rub".
Still wide awake. Realise I need to go to loo. Try to ignore need to go to loo. Know that now I realise I need to go to the loo I will never go to sleep until I go to the loo. Swear. Get up and go to the loo.
Wake up. Toss up whether to look at clock. Know I will be disappointed if I look at the clock so decide not to look at clock. Close eyes determined not to look at clock. Not looking. Not Looking. Not Looking.
Need to look at clock overwhelming. Look at clock. Swear. Turn away from clock. Close eyes. Try to relax and find hot guy wheel once more. Fail and lie there fuming.
Still wide awake. Go to loo yet again. Launch myself at bed in attempt to wake up Mr Grumpy so he can suffer with me. Fail. He continues to snore. Bastard rubbing his premier sleeping ability in my face. Contemplate smothering him with my pillow.
Still awake. Listen to possums making sweet, sweet, love on my corrugated iron roof. For those of you outside of Australia, it is not pleasant to listen to rooting possums on your tin roof. There is screeching and thumping, punctuated with hissing and weird clucking sounds. It is LOUD.
Still awake. Go to loo yet again. Listen to possums continuing to get freaky on roof. Laugh as one falls off roof, THUMP! Silence. Take that nymphomaniac possums. Rustle, rustle. Damn they are like cockroaches even a two-story fall wont kill them.
Finally drift off.
Wake up again. Look at clock. Contemplate throwing alarm clock across room (or at loud rooting possums, or blissfully snoring husband), but apathy wins out. Go to loo again. Go back to bed and try to work out the big issues. Is Beaker or Animal my favourite Muppet? If Miss Piggy and Kermit had kids would they be Progs or Figs? Is Wile E. Coyote really that dumb, or does he suffer from severe amnesia resulting from repeated roadrunner-induced, coup and counter-coup brain injuries?
Still awake. Go to loo yet again. Put a hex on my accursed acorn-sized bladder of stupidity. Unable to even locate hot guy wheel in my head. Lie there staring at the ceiling. Begin to have thoughts of tasaring Jeff from The Wiggles. You'd wake up then Jeff, you smug, purple-skivvied sleeper!
Still awake. Get up go out to kitchen and get a glass of water. If I have to pee myself stupid(er) I might as well pee out water rather than precious bodily fluids. Stare out at stars and curse Time itself. Drag self back to bed. Accidentally (wink wink nod nod) slam bedroom door. Let loose a stream of profanity as Mr Grumpy continues to sleep peacefully. Sadistic bastard continues to rub his sleeping abilities in my face.
Wake up. OMG! Two hours sleep in a row. Woo Hoo. Loo yet again. Pee like a horse. Where the hell does all this liquid come from? Is someone forcing water down my throat with a funnel whilst I am zoned out in some sleep-deprived dissociative state?
Pray I fall asleep again before kids get up at 7am (or worse Volleyball practice mornings with a 6am start, damn them and their desire to do before and after school activities. Why can't they be like normal kids and waste their life in front of the TV or Computer screen)
Drag pathetic exhausted body from bed. Scull strong coffee from bucket-sized mug. Throw tablets at face. Hope some get in mouth. Fail to notice tablet stuck in left nostril. Pee like horse yet again.
Throw on jumper over pajamas, find keys and drive kids to bus stop (though the other morning I started driving them down the hill in the opposite direction, luckily it clicked and I was able to turn around and get them to the bus stop on time and no one was any the wiser). Start day in normal exhausted state.
Repeat night ad nauseum.
Ugh! I hate, no I loathe insomnia. I've never been a good sleeper but since Bob came into the picture it has become much, much worse. Now there are times where I sleep. In fact I sleep like the dead, but this is usually after weeks of no or little sleep and lasts only a day or two. Basically, it's either coma or wide awake and absolutely nothing in between.
I wouldn't care so much if I could do something when I was wide awake at 3am. But noooo, that aint happening. I am even more moronic during those hours. I tried writing once. But when I got up in the morning it was a complete jumble of misspelt gobbledegoop, that looked like it had been written by a meth-addled, sight-impaired tapir.
Ask anyone with Bob and they'll tell you the same story. Insomnia is just part of the package. What I wouldn't do for a good nights sleep. (Well I wouldn't do that, you sicko. Get your mind out of the gutter). I know back from my PB (Pre-Bob) days that poor sleep screws with your immune system, increases your chances of heart disease, makes you gain weight and does all sorts of nasty things to your body. Watch The Machinist, bad things can happen with insomnia (hence my Christian Bale fantasy involves his Batman days, not this ickiness).
I can find a silver lining for most symptoms
eg, Nausea = Eat Less = Lose Weight = Fit in old Jeans = YAY,
but not insomnia. Can't fall asleep, can't stay asleep, can't function when awake = crap!
I used to teach patients Sleep Hygiene, so this is yet another bitch slap from the Irony Fairy, she is such a cow.
Who knew that narcoleptic cheese-grater man would become my hero. How I envy that rotund, naked bastard. Well technically he wasn't naked. He wore a hospital gown, but combine his enormous girth with his tendency to pull the gown up to his hips to "air" his bits, well he was pretty much naked where it counts (shudder). Before you get worried, it was not even remotely sexual, especially not for me and not even for him (the man itched with a cheese grater he wasn't exactly familiar with the real world). It took me a week to complete an interview with this man thanks to the frequency of his narcoleptic attacks. What I wouldn't give for a week of that (minus the cheese-grater though).
I have tried using Sleep Hygiene techniques and that does help a bit. I take some herbal tabs with Zizyphus which seem to get me to about 3hrs in a row, which makes life a little more bearable. But not much is working. I am tossing up about a sleep study or some sleeping tabs (not that I want another prescription) but thanks to the mechanisms of Bob their isn't a huge amount to do until you get your Autonomic Nervous System sorted out. And well, that's really going to plan, Right?
(I think Counting Sheep doesn't work for me because I count killer Zombie Sheep)
So there is my woe is me wingefest about my lack of sleep. I know it's not just my fellow Bobettes who deal with this, so I send a big "I feel you" to all my readers who spend their nights contemplating Muppet offspring and desiring to zap beloved children's performers, rather than enjoying the insides of their eyelids. Insomnia sucks my friends. It sucks.
In Part II, I'll actually do some helpful sleep tips which are the basis of Sleep Hygiene. See I can be helpful sometimes.
The Nocturnal Michelle :)