Sweet dreams?

Occasionally, as mentioned before, I come to my blog with a vacuum mind. I think today is one of those days. It may have to do with the fact that I did not get to sleep until after midnight, and only with help from an Advil. Yes, I admit to taking an over-the-counter drug when tossing and turning turns from a few minutes into a few hours.

Sleeping has been challenging for me during the past 26-plus years. I always blame it on Annie, who did not sleep a complete night for the first two years of her life. Getting up at all hours of the night to tend to her needs eventually set me off on an erratic pattern of slumber. Throughout my daughter's life, sleep or lack thereof has caused her a problem or two also.

I believe that, for me, the stress of having two small children, advising a yearbook staff, and teaching an adult night class along with my four daytime English classes may have had something to do with it. Back in the late '70s and early '80s, the need for a decent night's sleep eventually turned into an obsession. And, as I became obsessed with that need, I slept less and less and less.

Insomnia eventually controlled most of my thoughts outside of school, especially the minute I hit the bed. The crowning blow came one spring week when, for two complete school nights, I did not sleep one drop. Not one.

Desperate, after the second sleepless night, I walked into the principal's office, sat down and cried. Tom Keough was so kind and understanding to me as I faced the thought of something having to go in my all-too-busy schedule. It was a tough decision, because I loved it so, but the yearbook assignment got the nod. At that time, we were producing such a quality book that it had turned into a full-time job in itself, squeezing out time slots for all the other items in my life, especially my family.

Reducing my stress load did some good, but the sleep habits never did return to normal, especially through the rest of my teaching career. I've lived the life of an insomniac where stress or even concerns about plans for the next day take hold of the brain and refuse to let it rest. The brain keeps moving at a rapid pace, clicking past images of virtually anything that could have caused the least little concern during the day.

Problems magnify at night. No amount of rationalization makes them go away. They continue to play out like a broken record in your brain as your body becomes more and more rigid, your teeth, more clenched. It's not a fun scenario to live out nights like this, but like other insomniacs, I've learned to manage and have surprisingly always been functional.

My sleep habits has improved since retirement, but still, whenever I have something scheduled for early in the morning, as I do today with an 8 a.m. meeting, adrenalin flows through my brain, refusing to go away. Today, however, the gorgeous blue sky and the anticipation of possibly seeing our daughter-in-law, along with a good strong cup of coffee, are helping me forget my busy, sleepless night.

That's how it is with insomniacs. Thankful for what sleep we do get, we simply trudge forward, make the best of each day, and eventually collapse into a welcome restful night's slumber----only to have the weird sleep cycle start all over again.