sleepless

We've all been there. The clock is ticking and yet we can't will ourselves to sleep. Most of the time it's because we're too anxious, nervous, excited, worried, or just overall an emotional mess. Sometimes we've had too much caffeine. Sometimes our husbands are having a coughing fit. Sometimes the people in the apartment above you are getting down and dirty. Sometimes there's a loud noise outside that startles you awake. Sometimes...*sigh

My night last night started as usual. I brushed my teeth and got our allergy medicine and vitamins out of the bathroom as usual. And like every night, my husband and I laid down and played a round of Words with Friends. (That's not a euphemism.) And then just like every night, he fell asleep first and I followed shortly into the land of blissful sleep. (I promise we're not really 80 years old.)

And then it all fell apart. I could feel myself slipping out of sleep, like my mind was loosing grip on the rope of Dreamland and I was falling back into consciousness. I fought it, but to no prevail. I awoke to the sound of John coughing. But it isn't just coughing. Actually, no, the coughing isn't even the worst part. It's the SNIFFING. He sniffs a big one, and then lo and behold is coughing. I try so hard to be sympathetic. I'm able to muster up a sincere sounding "are you ok babe?" Sniiiiiff. Cough, cough, cough. Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiff. Cough, cough, cough, cough. I feel it boiling inside me, that feeling when you're about to burst. I manage to contain myself a bit longer and say, "maybe blowing your nose will help." All I can think about is the phlegm being sucked into the back of his throat and it further irritating the cough reflex. (Sorry, I hope you weren't eating.) He gets up and goes to the bathroom. I hear him blow his nose good and hard. "Thank heavens," I'm thinking to myself when...SNIIIIFF. Heaven. Have. Mercy.
Cough, cough, cough.
I inform him where the mucus relief/cough suppressant medicine is and pray that the next half hour before it starts working goes by at lightening speed.

Eventually, he stops coughing and falls asleep. I start to do that same, until...CLICK, CLICK, CLICK... It's coming from the ceiling. It's a loud "click" but a clicking sound nonetheless. We make jokes about the person(s) who lives above us because seriously it sometimes sounds like they're playing rugby or soccer or fighting bulls. We can joke about it because most of the time the nonsense happens in the afternoon or evening and isn't much of a bother. Ironically, I saw the inhabitant today. I call her "the little girl upstairs" only because she looks smaller than me, meaning that she probably shops in the little girl section. I wonder if she morphs into a 300 lb bronco-riding man when she walks through her front door. Or maybe the girl I saw was just visiting the 300 lb bronco-riding man that does live there. If that's the case, which seems more plausible, then the 300 lb bronco-riding man was not riding a bronco last night, if ya know what I mean.

I was determined to not let this keep me awake, so I went pee (hey, I was up), and looked for my iPod. I found my headphones, but not my iPod, so I just decided to listen to Pandora on my phone. The Pandora application wouldn't open. I'm not pleasant at 2:30 am, especially when my blood sugar levels are at about 30, and when I can't for-the-love-of-all-that's-holy JUST GO TO SLEEP. If someone had said something to me, I might of snapped their head of, literally. However, my stubborn self fixed my phone, found the Debussy station, and started to fall asleep with "Beau Soir" serenading me.

And then, because the universe hates me, a train drove through my bedroom. (Not really, of course, but it sounded like that.) I did what any mature, intelligent, composed woman would do and screamed into my pillow. It must of been a therapeutic, soothing kind of scream, because I fell asleep after that. My husband just texted me saying that he was tired and didn't sleep well last night. Ha.