I am really, really mad at Mr. Bookworm today. If I’m completely honest with myself, it’s not that he did anything to me. It’s that he has something I don’t have — namely, a good night of sleep under his belt. I’m a fairly chronic insomniac, and he is not. Last night was an even less good night than usual for me while he, the lucky son of a gun, not only slept through the night but managed to stay in bed an extra 2.5 hours after I’d already gotten up with the kids and gotten the household going. He’s refreshed and perky; I’m yawning and dragging.
It’s just so unfair!!!
At this point, I have two options for handling this situation in the future. The first is to keep him awake while I struggle to fall asleep, and then I can wake him whenever I wake up, whether it’s six times during the night, or that final wake-up at 6 in the morning. Doing so won’t give me any more sleep, of course, but I’m sure I’ll feel better knowing that he’s suffering too. After all, if we’re both suffering, that’s fair, right? And really, who cares if the fall-out for penalizing him for having the temerity to sleep through the night is that, lacking that sleep, he’s unable to carry out the job that supports our family? I’m sure his employer will just keep giving him money . . . or maybe someone else will. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Under this scenario, all that’s important is that, because I can’t seem to reach Mr. Bookworm’s high level of sleep, I need to bring him down to mine.
Alternatively, I can continue my search for sleep, and leave him alone, so that he can sleep, be refreshed, and earn money to support our family. Right now, I’m tending my garden: I exercise, eat fairly right, take Melatonin, and do whatever else is healthy for me and consistent with sleeping well. It might also behoove me to reconcile myself to the fact that, with the best will in the world, sleep is not going to be a part of my life in the short-term — or maybe ever. Destroying Mr. Bookworm’s sleep isn’t going to change that unpleasant fact.
Yes, it’s unfair, but as I say to my children, life isn’t fair.
(For those wondering, the first paragraph of this post is absolutely true. When Don Quixote called this morning and asked “How are you?” my answer was pretty much verbatim what I typed in the first paragraph. Don Quixote laughed and said “sleep envy,” which phrase was, of course, the genesis for the rest of this post.)