Dear Insomnia, I’m tired of keeping you company in the middle of the night. Tired of turning the light off and back on and then off, tired of trying to read myself to sleep, tired of herbal remedies, tired of melatonin and magnesium and mystery potions that never work. Tired, tired, tired. Benadryl used to be a reliable ship of sleep until it was sunk by warnings of dementia straight ahead. Sonata and her big sister Ambien always knock me out, but who have I called, what I have snacked on, what gibberish have I written when under their hypnotic spell? Not to mention a drug hangover that’s worse than the insomnia. But if I don’t knock myself out, I spend hours reliving failures and faux pas, mistakes and missteps, embarrassing dates and disastrous dinner parties. I’ve tried no red wine, no wine of any kind, exercise, yoga, no late-night meals (hello, early-bird specials), no tv in the bedroom, no night lights, new pillows, deep breathing, meditation, good sleep hygiene and ASMR videos of Eastern European women simulating the sounds of hair brushing (yes, it’s a thing). And still I toss and turn and tear up the bed. Insomnia, you’ve been more faithful than any of my relationships, but please cheat on me and have a one-night stand with someone else. Better yet, let’s get a no-fault divorce. There are plenty of politicians I can hook you up with instead. Their shenanigans, chicanery and venality have given me plenty of sleepless nights this year so turn-about is only fair. May they count sheep and votes and poll numbers all night long, and may they always come up short. XOXO Nikki
