I wish I could sleep in my bed like a normal human being. Don't start on this whole "what is normal" or "what is it to be a human being" bullshit. You know what I mean. Don't be difficult.
As some may know, I used to sleep on my couch quite a bit. Andy snores (I once recorded him for a few seconds then played it back to him the next morning. He either denied that it was him or was ridiculously apologetic. I can't remember which. Maybe both.), I have major struggles with sleep, and Andy gets up way earlier than I, so I don't want to keep him up. A few months ago, I swore that I would get a new bed.
And a new bed I bought. The actual "bed" (frame, head, foot, etc.) went upstairs because the master bedroom's... uh... well, bed was on the floor. It just didn't seem right or adult or natural. But I also bought a new mattress and box spring for the spare room downstairs. I was sick of sleeping on the couch most nights, waking up smelling like pickles (just... my sweat smells like pickles. Sorry for ruining pickles for you) and covered in cat fur. Plus, Ein can't leave me to sleep on my own, so he would take up the end of the couch where I would ideally have my feet. It was uncomfortable and I blamed that on my sleeplessness. Wait. Other way around. You know what I mean.
So, now I have the bed pictured above in the down stairs spare room, also known as Mum's room. I told her she could have it if she ever (finally) comes to live with me.
I sleep there pretty much every night.
Now, some have said that it was healthy for couples to have their own space in the house, and even to sleep in separate rooms if that's what works and blah blah blah. I want to sleep upstairs. I want to sleep in the same bed as my husband. I was looking for a picture of the upstairs bed and came across this:
As some may know, I used to sleep on my couch quite a bit. Andy snores (I once recorded him for a few seconds then played it back to him the next morning. He either denied that it was him or was ridiculously apologetic. I can't remember which. Maybe both.), I have major struggles with sleep, and Andy gets up way earlier than I, so I don't want to keep him up. A few months ago, I swore that I would get a new bed.
And a new bed I bought. The actual "bed" (frame, head, foot, etc.) went upstairs because the master bedroom's... uh... well, bed was on the floor. It just didn't seem right or adult or natural. But I also bought a new mattress and box spring for the spare room downstairs. I was sick of sleeping on the couch most nights, waking up smelling like pickles (just... my sweat smells like pickles. Sorry for ruining pickles for you) and covered in cat fur. Plus, Ein can't leave me to sleep on my own, so he would take up the end of the couch where I would ideally have my feet. It was uncomfortable and I blamed that on my sleeplessness. Wait. Other way around. You know what I mean.
So, now I have the bed pictured above in the down stairs spare room, also known as Mum's room. I told her she could have it if she ever (finally) comes to live with me.
I sleep there pretty much every night.
Now, some have said that it was healthy for couples to have their own space in the house, and even to sleep in separate rooms if that's what works and blah blah blah. I want to sleep upstairs. I want to sleep in the same bed as my husband. I was looking for a picture of the upstairs bed and came across this:
And we're awesome. That's all there is to it.
We've tried just about everything to help with Andy's snoring. Nose strips, apnea tests, different positioning on pillows, drinking cold water before bed... Nothing has long-term results. But as I mentioned, it's not just the snoring. I'm defective as well; perhaps more annoyingly so.
Some people talk about how their partner is a pillow/cover/bed hog. I don't know what I fall under, but I am most comfortable in a very specific and usually impossible to achieve in a co-habitation situation position: in the top left corner on top of many pillows like a pet, all curled up and possibly one leg stretching all the way across the bed to dangle over the edge like bait for a shark-cat to come and attack. it has happened.
It's not fair to expect Andy to sleep with my shin in his face. It really isn't. So, I am stuck down here most nights, sad and mostly uncomfortable (I hate disturbing the animals when they sleep on the bed. But that's another FWP for another time) and completely lonely. I bring it upon myself. My brain is just defective. You have no idea how much lavender scented shit I have (presumably to help me sleep). Andy is wonderful and puts up with me trying to assuage my anxiety by reading cards, spraying lavender scented goop on our pillows, ritualistically applying lotion that promises to detoxify and help me sleep... while I sleep, and even a few times, let me apply lavender body butter to his chest so I could sleep on his chest (actually quite comfortable) and still smell the supposedly sleep-inducing scent.
Each time, I end up downstairs... see above for the appropriate feelings and adjectives.
I am just so anxious about falling asleep that I keep myself awake. Completely backwards, I know. There was one particularly bad incident in undergrad wherein I stayed up all night, intermittently sobbing and pacing the old apartment because I had to be up at 5:30 the next morning to go student teach. I was so upset that I couldn't sleep that I more or less deliberately kept myself awake. I phoned poor Dr. Kauer (I guess Dr. Beasterfield now...) at 5 am (god, I am such an ass), crying, attempting to explain to her why I couldn't teach that day. I can't describe how terrible I felt. I hate skiving off for bullshit reasons that are my own doing.
She was quite nice about the whole thing and told me to get some rest, to email my supervising teacher (Kendra) instead of calling her at the buttcrack of dawn, and to please not call her that early ever again.
I just don't want people to think I am deliberately lazy about certain things. Look around my house; I am a terrible cleaner in my own home. My day isn't complete until I have stepped on cat puke or a half eaten mouse. Just saying. And I like it like that. But my job, especially when I was a student teacher, was the most important thing to me. I didn't want to be like every other half-assed student just attending college because mummy and daddy told me I had to (they didn't, for the record, but I did get my first laptop as incentive).
Back to it, I just can't sleep. Part of me wonders if I just want to keep myself awake to be miserable. The rest of me disagrees in the fashion of saying that I feel physically ill if I don't get enough sleep. Then I go into that shame and guilt spiral, cry, and fall asleep 10 hours after I meant to.
I want to just be able to accept my brain and bodily functions (or lack thereof) and fall asleep when I am tired and to hell with the conventions of sleep and wake cycles for everyone else. I'm a goddamned snowflake! But this snowflake can't tell when she is properly full with food, when she is thirsty as opposed to hungry (water is so amazing dude), when she is happy or sad between one second and the next... I'm a mess.
And so is every other snowflake out there. Fuck.
At any rate, I don't sleep well. And I want to be able to do something more about it than just taking pills or forcing myself to cry so I become tired.
n.b.: I have a theory about forcing yourself to cry and trying to force yourself to have an orgasm. In both situations, the harder you try, the less likely it is to happen and the more silly and frustrated you feel. And you won't be able to sleep after either.
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