When we turned our clocks back one hour last Saturday night, besides wishing I could turn back time to, say, 1982, I was excited. Because it meant an extra hour of sweet, sweet slumber.
I love sleep. I love to sleep.
I love to talk about sleep. And I’m really, really good at it. So good, in fact, that I can do it with my eyes closed.
And I’m a talented sleeper. For instance, if you tell me to take a nap, give me about 97 seconds, and I’m out. Every time I get on a plane, by the time the pilot has leveled off our 747, I’m in slack-jawed, drooling, sleeping bliss.
And I’m a multi-faceted sleeper. I’ve fallen asleep during a concert…standing up. Black-out drapes opened or closed? I care not. Oh, you say the last hotel room you have available has only one old, lumpy, tiny cot? I’ll take it.
I can do it anytime, anywhere. Sleep, that is.
I’ve done it at the movie theatre (haven’t we all?); while getting my hair washed at the salon; during — yes, DURING — a deposition (let’s keep that to ourselves); while getting my teeth cleaned at the dentist; and while on hold with AT&T waiting to speak with a live English-speaking human. My sister will never let me forget my sleeping through nine-tenths of the fabulous play A Man For All Seasons with Charlton Heston at the Pantages Theatre in LA circa 1982.
I’m particularly proficient at sleep when it’s cold outside and toasty inside. Picture this: A rainy, frigid, dark and dreary Sunday afternoon, a crackling fire in the fireplace, a cup of chamomile tea (I’m yawning as we speak). Pure siesta paradise.
Perhaps my love of sleep is a hereditary thing. Because I remember my dad speaking passionately and eloquently about it. I kinda understood it way-back-when. I really get it now.
So yeah, Saturday night I woke myself up about three times during the night, just to brag to me/myself/I that “I get an extra 60 minutes of freebie shut-eye. Neener-neener-neener.” I’m certain I smiled all night long.
So after 11.5 hours of shut-eye, Chuck was concerned. “Baby, are you okay? Do you feel alright? “
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“It’s 8:50! Why are you sleeping so late?”
“Because I can,” I said, as I rolled over and dozed for another 10 minutes, proud of myself and thrilled with the knowledge that I had once again successfully completed a long night of delightful, delicious sleep.
At the risk of sounding defensive, and lest you think I’m a lazy bummer, an unmotivated sloth, I must tell you that from Monday through Friday, each and every week, without fail, I do get up at 4:40. That’s my me-time. I own that time. I drink my coffee, eat my toast and peanut butter, think, read the paper and listen to what Dierdre Fitzpatrick and Teo Torres (KCRA Channel 3) have to tell me about what happened whilst I was slumbering.
(Now, I may or may not, on most if not all of those weekday mornings, drowse and snooze — which is equally as delicious as deep sleep — from about 5:45 to 6:30ish.)
Looking back, I remember that intense and inappropriate Mom jealousy I felt each day when I would put Cassidy and Julia, my wee ones, down for their 1:00 nap. Oh, how I wished someone would beg me to sleep…
And I remember like it was, well, 20 years ago, when The Myers Family Acute Influenza Scourge of 1993 hit my happy home. After tending to my vomiting, diarrhea-ing, feverish, dehydrated, snotting, sniveling kids and husband for eight days and seven nights, I was beyond exhausted. As soon as I could escape my loved ones, I went to the doctor.
Tearfully I asked my physician, “Is it possible to die from sleep deprivation?”
He laughed. Right in front of me!
“It’s not funny! I’m serious. Can I die from this?”
He looked into my eyes and saw how serious I was. Fearing, I’m sure, that I had a pistol in my purse, he said, “No, you can’t. I promise. You’ll be fine.”
Easy for him to say…
I’ve since asked several of my medical friends, like, do I have narcolepsy? No. Do I have thyroid issues? No. Am I clinically depressed? No!
I. just. love. to. sleep.
Am I alone in my passion? Do you have Zzzzzzz Stories to share? Do tell. I’m always up for learning the newest trends in pursuing my sleeping passions.