I'm a Sleeper!

By Roberta Durra

By the time I wake up in the morning my husband, Michael, has had his coffee, twice walked the dog, and run with the bulls. The man is a doer. I, on the other hand, am an excellent sleeper. I have no issues sleeping late in the morning. It’s just that I look like a bit of an underachiever compared to Michael, who by 7:00 am has done a week’s worth of chores, while I have just rolled out of bed and taken my thyroid pill.

I like to stay up late and wake up early. For me, early is 7:00 am. If by chance I sleep until 8:00 am, I am even happier, more refreshed, and chirpy as a Disney bird. Rouse me at 5:00 am, (Michael!) and you get Charles Manson.

I’m not even particular about where I sleep. I can doze on couches, in movie theaters and sitting upright at the computer. Hey, I’m sleeping right NOW! As a passenger, I’ve slept through cross-country car rides, so you know what I do through school meetings and holiday services.

I’m a well-practiced sleeper, though not a particularly quiet one. When Michael and I went to an early screening of the Academy Award winning film“ The Queen”, he was mortified when my snores overpowered the dialogue coming through the DTS 5.1 sound system. I was less than thrilled when his elbow overpowered my side ribs as he jabbed me awake.

Michael likes to go to bed early, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed. My snoring has become an issue…for him. The other day Michael casually mentioned that he had seen a Chihuahua wearing a bark collar that squirted the pup with citronella each time it barked. Then, just as casually, he questioned whether that collar might work for my snoring. 

 

            “ Are you suggesting I sleep with a bark collar around my neck?” I ask, incredulously.

            “Just a thought” he replies, knowing it’s best to tread lightly.

            “And you want it to squirt citronella on me when I snore?”  I try to formulate a picture.

            “No, No!” he says, appalled. “Water’s fine”.

Needless to say, Michael and I keep completely different hours. He wakes up somewhere between 4 and 5 am, which is a perfect time to collect the eggs and milk the cows. When we move to Green Acres, this will come of value. Here and now, in Venice, CA, the only thing that happens in the wee hours of the morning is Michael bumping around the bedroom, getting dressed in the dark and disturbing my R.E.M.

I think there should be a law restricting movement at 4:00 am with exceptions for…

1.Checking that your child is breathing, and

2. Middle-of-the-night bathroom trips.

This should easily cover: young mothers, older mothers, grandmothers, and men with enlarged prostates.

I’ve tried changing my schedule. For a time I chastised all my friends who called after 8:00 pm. I acted like I had a new baby I was trying to get to sleep. In fact, I was the new baby trying to sleep. I had myself in bed by 9 pm, lying like a mummy, counting ceiling cracks until 1:00 am. I’m just not wired to be in bed during “30 Rock” and “Parenthood”. Besides, I don’t like having the same bedtime I did in 3rd grade. I made an art of fighting my brother whenever he’d babysit. Maybe now, if he’d call and threaten to ring the boogieman like he did then, I could get to bed earlier. I still fear the boogieman. 

My mind wants me to get up early but there is something else in control…my body clock and sanity. I’ve tried joining my husband at sunrise for walks on the beach. But they always end the same. Soon after we start, I suggest he continue walking the dog while I meditate on the sand. I earnestly begin with my legs crossed in the lotus position and my first and second fingers touching, making shapes that remind me of giant sleeping pills. I inevitably end up in the fetal position, sound asleep in the sand, with half my face buried, and my mouth wide open in an unattractive puddle of sandy drool. And several times I’ve almost been swept away by the county tractor that rakes the beach each morning.

But there is nothing noble about getting up early, and as the week progresses Michael’s bedtime gets earlier and earlier, until Sunday he’s in bed by lunchtime. Alright, truthfully, most nights he’s crashed by 8:30 pm.  A big night is 9, a party 9:30 and New Years Eve is 7:30 pm. You know what they say…” The early bird gets the worm”. They forget to mention that the early bird also gets most of the bed.

I’m not saying it’s great to be a night owl, either.  Countless times I’ve fallen asleep on the couch with the lights on and the TV blasting. This is when I have infomercial nightmares. All night long I sculpt my abs and apply adult acne cream.  I rid my garden of unsightly weeds at the same time I clean my hardwood floors. When suddenly I’m trapped in a giant Snuggie blanket, I wake myself up and somehow make it upstairs where I lie awake for the next 2 hours. No wonder I’m always tired.

So if you happen to see a woman wearing a bark collar, sleeping in a parked car, this would be me.

Stop and say, hello…but not too loud. It might trigger my collar.