The Fat Lady Hums
I am historically a sound sleeper: putting out delta waves by 3 minutes past personal lights-out at nine-ish and fully awake without any alarming clock a few minutes before 4 a.m.– every day, weekends, holidays, no matter. Yessir, I have generally had good sleep hygiene. Her, not so much.
So when I entered my 5th or 6th night in a row of anxiety-ridden wakefulness at 2, I took some of her regular bedside Melatonin and after another hour of wide-eyed rehearsal of the entropy of my life, dozed off to sleep and was still soundly in that state when the usual wake-up hour rolled by, pleasantly groggy during what should be my most alert morning work zone. After a few nights running, the drugged sleep cycle must be broken.
Last night, I slept like a baby, seven hours straight, no meds, no unsettling dreams.
I would like to think (and in fact must have subconsciously believed last night) that we have come to an end of the dozens of recent entries into the “What Could Possibly Go Wrong” journal. Maybe the storm has passed.
And while she hasn’t clasped her pudgy little hands to her ample bosom to begin her soprano aria, I hear her gargling back-stage, humming, warming up. Soon she will cut loose.
Or at the last minute she will choke on a final bite of Twinkie like Mama Cass.
What could go wrong? You wouldn’t believe….