The Never-ending Nonsensical Thoughts that Occur at 2a.m
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
~Robert Frost
The clock has just struck midnight and my night has officially begun. It's just me and my thoughts, and an exhausting stretch lies ahead. My laptop is the only thing willing to stay up with me until, as my hope for sleep officially becomes futile, the dawn breaks through my white linen curtains. Why can't I just make myself go to bed? Why are my shoes refusing to kick themselves off of their cramped feet? Why am I destined to spend night after night in a silent house, ticking away at the laptop, trying to satisfy my lust for sleep with some old-fashioned soul-purging?
It seems to be a rhetorical question for the ages. Yet when I actually think about it, the answers come out bluntly with a maddening logic. My bed is too small, for one thing. Well, it is now. For twenty years, it was big enough for me. I refused to trade in my worn mattress, despite the smell of unwashed hair it had accumulated over the years. It fit me like an old shoe and I always achieved delicious sleep while spread across it. These days, however, I am forced to share my beloved bed with a snoring, tossing, sheet-twisting roommate who can't seem to keep his mouth closed while we are face to face. I believe my bed anxiety has stemmed from the constant fear of very-early-morning breath, waking up in a linen cocoon, and even the occasional arm ambush to the back of the head. I used to love sharing my bed with him, but now I'm starting to pine for the 1950s.
Although it would be easy to end the research with a finger of blame, I cannot allow myself to rest, even on the topic of resting. I can't ignore the alluring dark corners that my mind frequents at this time of night. Stories, scenarios, concepts, and even fantasies begin their reckless dances and not even the strongest sleeping pill can quiet them. Even if I were to magically fall asleep mid-thought, I would fall victim to a nightmare so frightening that sleep wouldn't even be attempted for weeks. Why do I think about these things? Why do I choose this specific hour to run through my family's fire escape plan, thinking up every possible obstacle and its respective Plan B? Why is my mind suddenly drifting to that birthday party I wasn't invited to in 4th grade? Why am I so hungry?
Then of course, there is the inevitable to-do list for tomorrow. Insignificant, unimportant, minute to-dos that must be committed to paper here and now, lest I forget the next morning in my exhausted haze. Heaven forbid I forget to buy more stamps or leave the trash can by the curb for another day. The bookshelf must be reorganized the minute I wake up and I should probably go ahead and rewrite that article 2 hours before the deadline.
You might be thinking that I have OCD or anxiety issues. Well, I have known this for many years. Still, my dilemma refuses to solved by such textbook phrases. I am not to be found in a textbook, nor do I plan on spending my sleepless nights reading "helpful suggestions" such as massages, hot showers, or warm milk. They all sound lovely but I might as well use a cup of water to put out a kitchen fire.
I've recently resorted to avoiding my claustrophobic bed and sleeping on the couch. The problem with this is that I must have the TV on to avoid getting the creeps. I still get the same willies in the dark as I did when I was 5, and it's not going away anytime soon. Now I have the blue TV screen burning into my wilted eyes, keeping me awake until my body gives out beneath me. It is 5a.m. and I have fallen. I sleep desperately, sprawled in every which way, each limb going off to its own private spot to enjoy the break.
The clock strikes 7. The night is over and the sun peeks in to wake me up. I peel myself off the couch and look in misery at my reflection on the TV screen. How long can I go on like this? Not even coffee can save me this morning, as the cheerful perking of the machine only irritates my thin mood. My day moves on with a forced, dizzy shower followed by clothes that beg to be thrown to the floor in exchange for my robe. I pick up the to-do list, a constant reminder of my struggle the night before, and begin to check things off.
Being nocturnal would be ideal, but the world will not have it. Work, friends, love, and life await outside, all refreshed from their 8 hours and wondering why you're moving so slow. Things will be fine as long as I suck it up, deliver the usual "restless night" explanation, and plow forward. I smile and wave until the clock strikes 12 and Cinderella must retreat back to the little office for her nightly date with her laptop.
Thanks for this article to Amelia Breyer.
