How long since I’ve had a whole night of sleep? A few days, I think. Sleep and I have an unhealthy relationship. I want it more than it wants me. The unevenness of it makes me seem desperate. Nobody likes desperate.
I try to seduce it with romantic music and silk-soft sheets. Sometimes it works, and it’s magic. Sometimes it accuses me of trying too hard. Sleep says I don’t really mean it and that I’d rather spend time with my computer than it. I don’t know how to convince sleep I’m true.
I don’t want to talk about the times I’ve popped a pill or had too much wine and sleep and I have gotten a little crazy together. It’s never as good as it could be if we just let things unfold naturally, but neither of us really regret it. You have to experiment a little to keep things fresh.
Occasionally, I can slip in a quick nap in the afternoon. Sleep likes that and obliges, even encourages me. Maybe it feels naughty. Maybe it’s just tired of only having my attention in the middle of the night. Who knows. The fact is, it has all the power in this relationship. I admit it, I’m barely conscious when we’re together. I’m not paying it enough attention. Oh, but I say such good things about sleep when we’re apart.