Lullabuys

Insomnia can lead you into an entire world of weird.  

Have you ever tried to trick yourself into falling back to sleep after awakening at 2:35am?  The more you concentrate on sleep, the more it eludes you.  The first time I faced insomnia, I thought I could just ignore it.   An hour and a half later, lying there irritated and wide awake, I finally gave up and decided to do a load of laundry.  That was sixteen years ago; I was pregnant with my first child, and I’ve had insomnia ever since. 

Now, when I wake up at 3:40, I jump into action immediately, sometimes starting not just a load of laundry, but a pot roast or an epic novel. 

I am convinced my insomnia is hereditary, or related to age or hormones, fueled by caffeine, maybe alcohol.  In short, I have no idea.  But I also have no interest in fixing it.  I have learned to embrace it, concluding that I can either battle in vain, or surrender.  Or watch infomercials. 

Watching late-night television is similar to visiting a creepy aquarium.  I’ve stumbled upon some unusual creatures- a rare melon from Southern France that contains the secret to younger-looking skin.  Or a strange religious man who offers to sew your seed for $58.00, so you can get a fresh start on life.  There is a bizarre yet very cold pillow, apparently designed to help those who are dripping with sweat at bedtime.  It’s called the “Chillow” which is what they should call that French melon.

Then there’s Beachbody, as well as a device to vacuum-pack your linens, or a portable heating pot that warms food without overcooking or burning anything.  There seems to be an underground market for hair- men want it, women want it removed.  In my haze, I imagined starting an exchange program.   

The other night, I raised the bar, migrating over to PBS for a change, unexpectedly catching a refresher course in history, revisiting both the Gettysburg Address, and the grim life of Lee Harvey Oswald.  I guess I never realized what a lunatic he was, or that his suspicious behavior went virtually undetected prior to the assassination of our president.  I became so disturbed by his activities that, by the time Dear Abe stepped up to the podium in the next segment, I was positively desperate for a morsel of hope.  And Lincoln delivered: 272 words of succinct eloquence.  By 4:50, I was in tears, vowing to be a better American, and to uphold the Constitution whenever possible.  I was so distraught and overheated, I almost ordered a Chillow.

Unfortunately, I paused long enough to finally catch up with the Kardashians, confirming that there is nothing to catch.  And I still can’t figure out why Cindy Crawford is peddling cosmetics in the middle of the night.  Certainly she has something better to do.  She seems so nice.  I just worry that she is going to let that man sew her seed for $58.00.  

Megan Davis Collins embraces insomnia.  Email her at megdavcol@gmail.com