As a 32 year old man with no children, a strong bladder and a relatively low stress level, I really shouldn't have problems sleeping. And yet, I do. I can be dead tired, with my head bobbing at my desk all day long, but when I get home, I can't fall asleep. I head up to the Captain (the name Inky and I gave to our king size) and every ounce of my being is calling out to it. My aching bones yearn for sleep, however, the sleep doesn't come. I lay there, looking at the clock every seven to ten minutes, wondering to myself 'why the fuck am I still awake."
What's more maddening, is that I know I can sleep, and I know that the captain is a willing an gracious partner in the bedroom. How do I know this? Because, when I nap it is the most complete and glorious experience this side of orgasm. Twice this weekend, I found myself all tuckered out in the early evening, and having nothing of any import to do, I took the chance to nap. And it was mind blowing!
A little background here: I am not traditionally a napper. Inky can nap just about anywhere, just about any time. The only time I've ever seen Inky have a problem catching a few winks was on the way back from Oz, and I suspect that had more to do with being in the middle seat than her own abilities. As for me, the last time I napped on a regular basis, save for my time on third shift, was during the Carter administration. During my graveyard days, I would stagger down to the building's abandoned cafe' at 4 AM and sleep the sleep of the dead on a padded bench, until about 4:27, when my cell phone alarm would wake me to return to the salt mines.
As a day-walker, I have chosen to eschew catnaps for the chance to be lazy while still awake. But those two interludes with the captain this weekend have forced me to rethink my whole position on napping. In each case, I fell asleep straight away, and didn't hardly stir until I awoke 90 to 120 minutes later. When I did wake up, I was completely and totally rested, not to mention 100% contented in my little heated sleep cocoon. Inky will tell you that when I nap, I throw off slightly less heat then Three Mile Island does. Even after being away from my covers, my woobie and the captain for a few minutes, they are all still warm with clean, 100% green, Greazy heat. I think someone might want to look into me as a possible solution to the energy crisis, I'm just saying...
So why can't I sleep that way at night? I toss and turn, I sigh and frown and most importantly, I get ever closer to the time I have to get up. All with no good rest. Is this some kind of cruel joke? Is it residual damage from the two year disruption of my circadian rhythm while I worked overnight? Or, even worse, is it just a fact of getting older? Because that would suck! With all we have to go through during the day, don't we deserve seven or eight good hours of sleep a night?