Sleep and I have a love/hate relationship.  I love it.  It tends to hate me.  As I’ve gotten older, getting eight hours of blissful slumber has become a rarity.  For whatever reason, I now magically pop out of bed wide-awake at approximately 4:44am every day.

At 4:44am, there’s not much going on.  I can’t call anyone, lest I incur their wrath.  It’s too dark out to water the flowers or go jogging.  And I gave up studying for my doctorate years ago.  (And by “gave up” … I mean, uh,  never started.)

So I lie there and ponder the universe and wonder why I can’t fall back asleep.  I’ll usually grab my computer and start writing.  Most of my best blog posts are written at that ungodly hour.  My mind tends to be frosty and alert at 4:44am … and interruptions are usually kept to the barest of minimums.  By 5:30am, writing something pithy and insightful is nearly impossible.  I start to dangle participles.  I end sentences with (shudder!) prepositional phrases.

Remember back in the day when, as a teenager — you could sleep for 14 hours with absolutely no effort?  There were many times as a sophomore or junior in high school where I’d come home from school and go to bed at 4pm and sleep until the next morning.   My folks would try to wake me up for dinner to no avail.  Now that’s impressive.  I can’t remember the last time I missed a meal (or snack, for that matter) because sleep came first.

I can’t wrap my brain around sleeping pills.  While they work … they work almost too well.  If I take an Advil PM, I’ll sleep through the night, but be completely worthless the next day.  It’s like my body wants a perpetual 24-hour nap.

Speaking of naps … I think I’ll try and grab a quick one before I post this.  Won’t last long though … because inevitably I’ll have to get up and pee at some point.  And let’s not even get me started on my tiny bladder … that’s a completely different blog.