Perchance to Dream

A good night’s sleep is one of those inalienable rights Thomas Jefferson forgot to mention. We spend a third of our lives with our eyes closed. That would be 31 years for me, the equivalent of a second life.

We need to have our batteries recharged and log in some quality REM time. As the Bard said, sleep is the balm of hurt minds. It is both the repository of our unremarkable yesterdays and the seed of our tomorrows.

As we move into our twilight years sleep becomes increasingly elusive. It ain’t fair. Last night I got up at 4:07 as the clock in my bladder dictated. For the next 4 hours I was in a hypnagogic state, half asleep and half awake, and the third half thinking great thoughts such as why is the bottom of the pillow cooler than the top or why did I eat that bowl of ice cream at 8 o’clock. Obviously, because I can’t resist chocolate malt crunch. As a nonagenarian, I’ve earned that indulgence….with impunity, so I thought.

As I recall I had no problem sleeping as an infant though I can’t imagine what I dreamed about; maybe my minus time in that embryonic sea. Since I was born a few days after Hitler took office maybe I sensed the dark times ahead and cried for a u-turn. On the other hand, FDR was just inaugurated and he proclaimed that I had nothing to fear but fear itself (whatever that meant).

But I digress, The subject is sleep and I’m nodding off as I'm writing this. 

I’m well-versed in all the sleep-aids. If I contemplated their side-effects, I’d be up all night with anxiety. Sleep is really a brain thing. My simmer-down gear is in need of repair. I certainly have more memories than plans. All those shards serve as pot holes on the road to oblivion; plus those vivid images of events that never happened except in the hive of my imagination. 

Some people have success with mantras; not I anymore. Though repetitions of Beaujolais, Beaujolais did carry me off for a while. I offer it to anyone for a mere 39 cents and the key to their safe deposit box.

Naps are as mysterious as sleep itself. If I set out to take a nap, it’s hopeless. However, once I start reading in late afternoon, I often drift off in mid-paragraph on the first page. For reasons unknown this doesn’t work for me in bed. Too much intention, I suspect. Sleep does not answer to commands; it only comes unbidden.

I read somewhere that butterflies, bullfrogs and baby dolphins never sleep and giraffes get away with a half hour nap now and then. Even if they wanted to, where would they put their necks? The more I think about it the less reason I have to complain. 

To sleep, perchance to dream, ay there's the rub. What if these past 18 months have been a mere nightmare from which I will soon wake up?