Since becoming an insomniac, I have tried everything to sleep. I started with a sleeping mask but my eyes were still open all night. I thought the room was too bright so I added black out blinds and still my eyes were open.
Try this sleeping potion, its guaranteed to make you sleep, the guy at the supplement shop promised. Sleep I did, but unlike Sleeping Beauty, I became a Walking Zombie who was charming and delightful to no one the next day. Birds were not landing on my shoulders, and woodland creatures were not gathering round my darling ballet slippers the next day.
A sleep therapy noise machine that I only came into by a stroke of good luck helped for a few nights. Alas, this too was only the placebo effect. After a week of gentle ocean waves and white noise, I was back up. Two shining eyes peering out into the darkness, hating the night for what it held back from me and gave to so many others.
In contrast, my husband gets up every morning as soon as his alarm sounds with a cute little stretch and a yawn. He hops out of bed and says things like, “What a great night of sleep.” And “I am just so rested now.” Then, he bounces off to do a number of productive morning things while I hit the snooze button, again and again and again.
I could glare and growl at him but it makes no difference to that puff of sunshine who travels around in such a well-rested state. So instead, I keep my grouchiness to myself and pull the pillow over my head hopeful for a last minute fog delay or natural disaster to allow me to repose just a bit longer.