I picked up this lovely little trait from my dad, who can often be found snoozing on the couch at 5 am because he tripped back out to the tv in the wee hours after reading wouldn’t do the trick. I feel your pain, Rodney.
I take warm baths. I turn the lights low an hour before bedtime. I read relaxing material. I even read my scriptures. (Insert standard joke at your pleasure.) I once saw a doctor about it. He said that my internal clock wants the day to be several hours longer than it actually is, so it won’t let me sleep until I’m utterly exhausted, which usually occurs two days after the sleepless night. And when the fatigue hits, it hits hard. This would be okay if I could lie down and sleep for nine hours every time my jacked-up “clock” decided it was bedtime, but it usually decides that bedtime should occur between getting the kids to school, helping Ethan build a fort, and fighting my way through the Customer Service line at Wal-Mart. So what the doctor basically said is: So Sorry. Push Through. It seems that short of prescription drugs, sleepless nights are just a part of my schtick, and have been for as long as I can remember. Not that I’m complaining. Just female-conversing. You get the difference.
Some nights I do sleep well. Others, like tonight, find me reading strangers’ blogs at 1 am, which is how I recently stumbled upon one of the best TED lectures ever. It’s all about creativity and children and lots of cool, interesting stuff. I want you to watch it. I know what you’re thinking: “No way am I sitting through a twenty-minute video right now; I can’t believe I’ve wasted even two minutes reading this lame post.” I understand. I rarely watch videos online, either. But promise me you’ll watch it later, when you can’t sleep. Really. It will make you laugh and make you happy, and although the speaker isn’t terribly attractive, after listening to him talk for five minutes I decided that I wanted to marry him.
The best part? You can now post this lecture on your own blog, start babbling about how you just love TED, and then go buy some heavy-rimmed, prescription-less glasses. Your perceived I.Q. is guaranteed an immediate twenty-point spike. And then you can match up that newfound intellectualism with some compassion by mailing me phony scrips for Ambien.