As I type this it is 12.5 hours until my column deadline. That’s means it’s 11:30 p.m. I have dozed off four times. The last three toes on my right foot are asleep. My eyes are burning because the makeup I put on them at 6 this morning has long overstayed its welcome. I’ve run my hands through my hair so much in an attempt to wake myself up that I look like the love child of Phyllis Diller and Vanilla Ice. I yawned so hard a few minutes ago I got a muscle cramp in my jaw. I need to pee, but I’m afraid if I get up to go to the bathroom I’ll see my bed, collapse onto it, and sleep until morning.
I love sleep. I am really good at it, too. In my early 30s I had horrible insomnia and on the nights I could manage to fall asleep, I’d have trouble staying asleep. Not the case anymore – my forties are being so good to me sleep-wise. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow at night. I used to have to do my crossword game on my iPad to get into the Sleep Zone. Now I just pretty much have to get near a bed and I’m not only in the Sleep Zone, I’ve made four touchdowns. (In a related note: an iPhone 5 dropped onto one’s face hurts like the dickens. Best to not lie on one’s back while sleepily playing a game or checking Facebook. Take my word for it.) Heck, I can’t really even sit down these days without falling asleep almost immediately. I used to make fun of my mother for that. Now I’m like, “Ohhhhhhhh, I totally get it now.”
If I can get nine hours of sleep a night I feel human. In order to attempt to get nine hours of sleep a night I have to start getting ready for bed by 7pm. But by the time I move around any laundry in the washer and/or dryer, load the dishwasher, get the coffee pot ready for the morning, check on the snoozing teenager and the insomniac teenager, double-check my alarms so I won’t be late for work, and finally shower, it’s midnight and I’m standing at the side of the bed, scratching my head, and wondering where on earth the evening ran off to and lamenting once again the loss of a nine-hour night.
Life has been so busy lately. Between family gatherings, Christmas decorating and shopping, and long work days, I’m running on fumes most of the time. I drink a lot of coffee. A LOT. The other day, the office was empty except for me. There were no customers, I even turned off my Christmas music and just enjoyed the peace and quiet. Then I nearly wet my pants when the phone rang and woke me up from the impromptu siesta I had been partaking of.
I know this, too, shall pass and once Christmas passes and then winter fades to spring, things will settle. By April I’ll be back to my normal properly slumbered self. So for now, Juan Valdez and I will just keep up our hot and heavy love affair and continue seeing each other starting at 5:30 every morning. I’ll address the sleep deficit on the weekends that I can and on the weekends I can’t, I’ll just stay grumpy. And if you see me around town with strange marks on my forehead, just know I was up late the night before I fell asleep on the keyboard once agai…….zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
— Born a semi-diva and married to a redneck, through the magic of osmosis or just because of a serious lack of sophistication over the years, Kristin Hoover has found a balance of the two that makes her what she is today.