Sleepful in Sacramento

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…

Baby Napping

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. :)






2 Responses to Sleepful in Sacramento
  1. T.Fowler-Bailey
    November 10, 2013 | 12:43 pm

    Really enjoyed this compilation of words…always quirky and witty..really a smile-maker! My sleep… stay up late, get up early early.. My time is morning.. Never can make it more than 6 hrs at the most. I envy peeps who can SACK OUT~ Keep up long enough to WRITE more! Smile makers!

  2. Krista
    December 15, 2013 | 3:52 pm

    Mere too Theresa. A good 5 hours is all I can do. What’s wrong with us! Jodie… this did make me want to curl up and take a snooze. However I probably wouldn’t sleep tonight!! I do have a sister just like you though. She sleeps while driving and actually hit a tree doing so. She’s a lucky girl to have walked away. So you sleepy heads out there be careful. Keep writing I sure do love reading …..I’m anxiously awaiting you Christmas blog. Lol

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It's true! Despite playing defense virtually all my life against the onslaught of this sometimes-ugly aging process, it...has...arrived! I naively thought I would escape cellulite (the Cottage Cheese) and crow's feet (the Crepe Paper). But I didn't! And why didn't anyone tell me about this emotional roller-coaster that comes with being an Empty-Nester?! My name is Jodie Barringer Myers. I'm a 54-year-old Friday/chardonnay/ hydrangea-loving wife/mom/court reporter living in Sacramento (Gold River!), California. Writing is cathartic for me. And because I look to find humor and humility among the rubble that is my now very peri-menopausal self, I'm hopeful that you will laugh, cry, learn, enjoy and, most of all, relate to what I have to say. After all, we're all in this together, right?

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