I Should be Asleep


I’ve been in bed for more than an hour now. I read for a while. Yawned. Closed my eyes, but couldn’t doze off.

Tossed. Turned. Got up and had a talk with my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Took a drink of water. Now of course I’ll need to pee. But not right now—later when I’ve come close to slipping into some sweet dream.

There’s a headache working behind my left eyebrow, and an itch cropping up in various unreachable spots on my back. I’d wake Studly Doright to scratch for me, but he’s happily snoring and I hate to interrupt a man doing what he does best.

I’ve been under the weather for several days now. An upset stomach has me feeling BLAH. I’d take something to help me sleep, but that’s really not a great idea when one has a stomach virus.

So here I am, hoping to write myself into sleepiness. It could be working. I might have drifted off for a second or two. Yep. Now I need to use the facilities.


Peace, people.

One Sheep, Two Sheep

Thanks to growing up on the wisdom embodied in Bugs Bunny cartoons, when I cannot sleep I often resort to counting sheep.

I’ll picture a line of sheep backed up for miles, or acres, I suppose. As the next in line approaches the fence he or she gets a running start and usually makes it over the barrier. Sometimes, though, a sheep will stumble or catch a hoof on the top rail, and soon all the other sheep are laughing and pointing and offering advice, often saying, “Baa! Baa!” Which loosely translates to “Ewe should have stopped and asked directions!” Even though the sheep wasn’t lost, just clumsy. Sheep aren’t the smartest animals in the barnyard, after all.

Instead of counting leaping sheep I’m now offering them lessons in compassion. I relate the story of the Good Samaritan, but my words fall on deaf ears and my frustration grows and now I’m more wide awake than when I started the process.

Tonight, though, I had an epiphany—what if the sheep aren’t in a single file line? What if they aren’t jumping a fence? What if they’re all just chomping on grass, scattered about the countryside like so many cotton balls on a blanket? This scenario has possibilities! Now, if I could convince them to stay in one place this might just work.

“Hey, you, get back here! The fence is off limits!” Oh well, it was worth a try. Maybe I should count cotton balls instead.

If only.

Peace, people!

Shhh, Alexa’s Listening

Those of you who are Amazon users might have taken advantage of a few deals during the site’s Prime Days on the 15th and 16th of this month. I’d made up my mind to forego any shopping on those days, even going so far as to post this on Facebook:

I was going to resist the urge, by golly!

Of course the second I hit post I thought, “It won’t hurt to just browse….” And there, right in plain sight on the Amazon feed was the product I didn’t know existed but desperately needed anyway:

Why did I NEED this, you ask? Some of my readers know that I struggle with insomnia, but that the Calm app I downloaded several months ago has helped immensely with my sleep problems. The only downside to the app is that I feared it would interfere with Studly Doright’s rest.

So several nights ago as we were preparing to sleep I told Studly I wished I had a special Bluetooth speaker that I could somehow wear comfortably to bed. I dislike earbuds, and regular headphones were out of the question since I sleep on my side. He assured me that my sleep stories on the Calm app didn’t bother him, and I promptly forgot about it. Until Prime Day, that is, when a product fitting my exact needs popped up magically in the “Look What We Found Just For You” section on Amazon.

Like the earnest consumer I am, I quickly read the reviews and ordered the headphones/mask. It arrived two days ago, and I got to familiarize myself with the mask while Studly was out of town. I’m not great at this newfangled technology like some of you young whippersnappers out there, but with just a little fumfering about I soon had one of my favorite sleep stories playing just for me, in a concert for one.

Now, this sleep mask was the very first thing that popped up on my Amazon feed on Tuesday. How did they know it’s what I wanted/needed? I have my suspicions:

Remember that bedtime conversation Studly and I had a few nights back? My Amazon Echo sits on the bookshelf right next to my side of the bed. Is it too outrageous to think Alexa might’ve listened in? I have some strong words for her in that case:

“Alexa, stop eavesdropping! Unless, of course, you happen to have additional recommendations that will make my life better. In that case, carry on.”

Peace, people!

Sleep App Update

A couple of months ago I posted a piece about the sleep app, “Calm,” and I figured it was time for an update. Here’s a link to the original post, if anyone’s interested: https://nananoyz5forme.com/2019/03/10/sweet-sleep-in-an-app/

Knowing myself as I do, I really worried that after the novelty of the Calm app wore off that my anxiety would kick in and counter the positive results I’d experienced. Turns out, I don’t know myself all that well. Huh. Who’d have thunk it?

Don’t get me wrong. I have had a couple of sleepless nights since downloading the app, but that’s TWO nights out of more than 60, and that my friends is a win. If you didn’t read my earlier link, and honestly, you really should so you’ll be up to speed, the Calm app has meditation exercises and relaxing music, but best of all, there are sleep stories to send the listener off to a restful sleep.

I have several favorite sleep stories that are almost guaranteed to take me to lala land.

1) “The Butterfly Sanctuary,” read by Clarke Peters. His voice makes me melt. Like buttah.

2) “Wonder,” read by Mr. Alright, Alright, Alright himself, Mathew McConaughey. Talk about sending a girl off to sleep with a smile on her face!

3) “Aberystwyth by Train,” read by Stephen Lyons. Imagine falling asleep to the lulling rhythm of a train traveling along the northern coast of Wales. Oh my!

There are many other stories. Some are short fictional tales, others are excerpts from non-fiction, like astronaut Terry Virts’s “View from Above.”

There have been a couple that I’ve not found relaxing. Ironically enough, “Calm Airways” is one of them. It’s a poem, and a rather eye rollingly corny one at that. And this is going to sound sexist, but I still find the male voices more conducive to my own relaxation. I’m sure that wouldn’t be true for every listener.

Some of the stories are intended for children, but the only one I’ve listened to is “The Little Mermaid.” My six-year-old granddaughter and I downloaded the familiar tale to listen to when we shared a bed during her recent visit to Doright Manor. Once the story ended she was still wide awake and not at all happy that it wasn’t a bit like the Disney version.

Nothing’s perfect, right? But this app has really been a godsend. I heartily recommend it for anyone who struggles with insomnia.

Peace, and calm, people.

No Sleep = No Blog Post

Okay, despite the title of this post I feel compelled to write something.

On Thursday morning Studly Doright and I had the following text exchange:

All he needs is milk and pot pies. All I need is eight hours of sleep. I don’t even like milk or pot pies, but if consuming either meant I could sleep I’d buy large quantities of both.

Having slept very little on Wednesday night, I figured I’d sleep soundly on Thursday night. Wouldn’t that have made sense? I must have dozed off for a few minutes after we went to bed last night. A bit of drool on my pillow was proof of that, as well as the reason I woke up. There’s nothing like the feel of cold, wet slobber on one’s cheek to bring all the senses alive. Ick.

I couldn’t go back to sleep after trying for an hour, so I took my book and went to the sofa in the den thinking that reading for awhile would soon make my eyelids droop, and I’d fall asleep mid-sentence, awakening renewed and refreshed. Nope. Never happened. I finished the entire book and was so wired afterwards one would’ve thought I’d consumed multiple cups of espresso during the night. It’s a good thing I’m retired. This could be a long day.

Here’s a clip from the Mary Tyler Moore Show. I could’ve used Mr. Grant’s help last night.


Peace, (yawn!) People.

But I Don’t WANT To Write

I write something for this blog and post daily. I’ve done so for several years now, but last night the toddler in me was balking. Toddler Nana didn’t WANT to write anything, and nobody could make her.

When I crawled into bed I said to myself, “Self, you don’t have to write anything tomorrow if you don’t feel like it.”

I congratulated myself profusely. Then my brain spent the next hour and 20 minutes churning out one forgettable blog post idea after another.

“Okay!” I snarled at myself. “I’ll write SOMETHING, but I won’t enjoy it.”

Good news: I purchased some new eye liner and will most likely be able to find humor in the application process for a future post. Grasping for straws, folks. Ooh! There’s a title.

Peace, people.

I Don’t Sleep

I don’t sleep when you’re away, my thoughts chase, circling ceaselessly without remorse.

Each hour weighs a ton, each minute pounds against my skull, what if? What’s that? Check

The clock. If I fall asleep right NOW, I could manage five hours before the alarm sounds, now

Four, then three. Who does math at four a.m.? Could I reset the alarm? Thirty minutes 

More? But I’ve already eaten up that time with my calculations. Please hurry home. I don’t sleep.

Women are from Earth; Men are from Uranus

Studly Doright fell into a deep sleep as soon as the lights went off in Doright Manor last night. In contrast I watched the minutes, then hours, tick by on my Fitbit, practiced coordinating my deep breathing skills with the rise and fall of his snores, and not only counted sheep, but also organized them according to height, weight, and quality of fleece. It was a long night.

Twice during the night I felt the call of nature. Being a considerate woman even in a state of severe sleep deprivation, I carefully slid out from under the covers, making the most minute movements imaginable. With the stealth of a cat I moved through our bedroom and down the hall to access one of the guest bathrooms in order to allow dearest Studly to slumber in peace, undisturbed by the sound of a flushing toilet or running water.

Returning to bed after both trips to the loo I gently eased myself onto the mattress and matched my movements to his snores, pulling the blankets up to my chin in increments of a half millimeter per second. Studly never stirred.

At some point I slept. I know this because I was awakened rudely by Studly who abruptly sat up with a loud grumble-snort-sigh combo, followed by an inelegant roll out of bed, and topped off with a vicious tug of the covers. Granted he couldn’t have known that I struggled with sleeping last night, but geez Louise, he could’ve shown a little respect for the near dead.

I fumed as he showered and readied himself for the day ahead. As Studly noisily fumbled about for his keys and wallet I leaned across his side of the bed to kiss him goodbye. 

Sweetly I asked, “Honey, did I steal the covers last night?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, sounding genuinely puzzled. 

“Then why did you jerk them like a magician pulling the old tablecloth trick?”

“I dunno. Maybe I was looking for a rabbit?”

His humor just barely saved him this time. Grrrrr.

Peace, people.

Hormonally Challenged

Some nights it doesn’t pay
to try and fall asleep.
I toss, turn, fume, and burn
and sometimes even weep.

My brain is heavy in its cage
too tired to engage in thought,
still round and round it plods
until every nerve is shot.

Physically I’m just a mess
of hot and sweaty limbs;
sticky breasts, and chafing thighs
turn nighttime hours grim.

Just once I’d like to fall asleep
free of worry, care, and pain,
yet I fear that won’t take place
until I’ve died or gone insane.


Peace, people!

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