How is it, exactly, that we con ourselves into sleeping each night, into that vague simulacrum of death? Sure, sometimes we don’t even notice our eyelids drooping as we watch some mind-numbing sitcom or police drama on the tube, but for the most part falling asleep is an active, conscious effort that we make each night. For the insomniacs in the crowd this is a very sensitive subject because long after the vast majority of us have collapsed into slumber, they are still up patrolling the passage ways of the night–eyes open, hearts beating, lonely and confused about why the rest of the world can plunge itself into gentle oblivion so easily, jealous that they cannot do the same. In fact, the harder insomniacs try to sleep, the more they stay awake. I go to sleep when I am tired so that I don’t really have to ponder the process of falling asleep. My strategy is simple: try to forget the events of the day, get as comfortable as possible, and then, don’t worry about falling asleep. Sleep usually shows up presently when I have taken care to do the other things. Part of my sleep preparation is my routine before going to sleep: contacts come out, (I’m officially blinder than a bat), teeth get brushed, flossed, and rinsed, and under the covers. It never varies from one day to the next. But if I go to bed too early, I wake up at three a.m., and then what do you do? Get up and read a book? Watch reruns of Perry Mason? Patrol the halls with the other ghosts? I think the secret to falling asleep is getting your mind to stop running the day’s scenarios–the conversations, the conflicts, the whatevers that will keep you thinking and awake. I like to write a bit (like right now) before bedtime and let my mind stretch itself before turning the lights off–I make my brain just a little tired from creating something new, and it’s easier to get it to switch off when the lights go off. Some people read, but that is a little too passive and a little too easy. I’ve greeted the morning sun a few times while engrossed by one text or another, so that is not the best solution for me. Falling asleep is a bit of a paradox, though, because you have to actively do something, but that activity might be enough to keep you awake. At some point, just before you drop into the black unconsciousness of sleep, you have to convince yourself that your mind is blank, nothing else matters, that swirling down into the unknown maelstrom of sleep is okay. There is something about the darkness of night that swaths you gently in the sweet bonds of sleep, that helps your body send out the correct chemicals for shutting down the power plant and turning off the brain for awhile. I think I am lucky in that I can sleep almost anywhere, including the subway (not recommended), airplanes, the dentist office, church, and of course, if your house has a sofa, I can sleep on it with no prompting whatsoever. I can sleep sitting up. I have fallen asleep in lots of theaters. I have fallen asleep at times when this was not the most convenient or correct thing to do. Cars are a natural sedative for me, so if I have to drive, I always get well-rested before I travel. Cat-naps are heaven sent. I have no fear of falling asleep or of sleeping, and my only sleep problems arise in connection with jetlag, which really messes me up, and the older I get the worse the jetlag gets, which really sucks. I hate resorting to chemicals aids for sleeping, so when I go to Europe, I just know that for about a week, my sleep patterns will be off. Time to say good night and go to sleep. The Sandman is calling.
Category Archives: napping
On falling asleep
How is it, exactly, that we con ourselves into sleeping each night, into that vague simulacrum of death? Sure, sometimes we don’t even notice our eyelids drooping as we watch some mind-numbing sitcom or police drama on the tube, but for the most part falling asleep is an active, conscious effort that we make each night. For the insomniacs in the crowd this is a very sensitive subject because long after the vast majority of us have collapsed into slumber, they are still up patrolling the passage ways of the night–eyes open, hearts beating, lonely and confused about why the rest of the world can plunge itself into gentle oblivion so easily, jealous that they cannot do the same. In fact, the harder insomniacs try to sleep, the more they stay awake. I go to sleep when I am tired so that I don’t really have to ponder the process of falling asleep. My strategy is simple: try to forget the events of the day, get as comfortable as possible, and then, don’t worry about falling asleep. Sleep usually shows up presently when I have taken care to do the other things. Part of my sleep preparation is my routine before going to sleep: contacts come out, (I’m officially blinder than a bat), teeth get brushed, flossed, and rinsed, and under the covers. It never varies from one day to the next. But if I go to bed too early, I wake up at three a.m., and then what do you do? Get up and read a book? Watch reruns of Perry Mason? Patrol the halls with the other ghosts? I think the secret to falling asleep is getting your mind to stop running the day’s scenarios–the conversations, the conflicts, the whatevers that will keep you thinking and awake. I like to write a bit (like right now) before bedtime and let my mind stretch itself before turning the lights off–I make my brain just a little tired from creating something new, and it’s easier to get it to switch off when the lights go off. Some people read, but that is a little too passive and a little too easy. I’ve greeted the morning sun a few times while engrossed by one text or another, so that is not the best solution for me. Falling asleep is a bit of a paradox, though, because you have to actively do something, but that activity might be enough to keep you awake. At some point, just before you drop into the black unconsciousness of sleep, you have to convince yourself that your mind is blank, nothing else matters, that swirling down into the unknown maelstrom of sleep is okay. There is something about the darkness of night that swaths you gently in the sweet bonds of sleep, that helps your body send out the correct chemicals for shutting down the power plant and turning off the brain for awhile. I think I am lucky in that I can sleep almost anywhere, including the subway (not recommended), airplanes, the dentist office, church, and of course, if your house has a sofa, I can sleep on it with no prompting whatsoever. I can sleep sitting up. I have fallen asleep in lots of theaters. I have fallen asleep at times when this was not the most convenient or correct thing to do. Cars are a natural sedative for me, so if I have to drive, I always get well-rested before I travel. Cat-naps are heaven sent. I have no fear of falling asleep or of sleeping, and my only sleep problems arise in connection with jetlag, which really messes me up, and the older I get the worse the jetlag gets, which really sucks. I hate resorting to chemicals aids for sleeping, so when I go to Europe, I just know that for about a week, my sleep patterns will be off. Time to say good night and go to sleep. The Sandman is calling.
On the couch potato
The life of a couch potato is pretty simple: couch, television, remote, chips, diet soda, chocolate. The average couch potato would probably be content with half of that stuff, but let’s just say our couch potato lives in a perfect world. It is of no importance whatsoever that anything of transcendent value be on television at any given moment. In fact, what could be better than watching “Ground Hog Day” for the fifty-third time? I would say that a couch potato, a truly inert and dedicated one, will watch anything at all as long as it talks and moves. The sofa can be of any age, shape, condition or smell, preferably stained by some unknown liquids that have long since turned into permanent stains. The sofa has to be long enough to stretch out on–no love seats allowed. What is of vital importance, however, are the batteries in the remote. The remote must work consistently or all bets are off–a couch potato will not get up to turn the channel, which is so forty years ago. The television must be huge, although any non-self-respecting couch potato will do with any old set as long as it gets a couple of channels. Today’s plethora of humungous flat screen televisions is pure nirvana for the dedicated couch potato. Eating chips and drinking soda does require an ounce of effort, but if you bring enough chips and soda into the living room, this is generally not a problem: a big box of chips and a two-liter bottle of soda will put the “potato” into the right mood for both Jerry Springer and Suzanne Summers in the same night. If Jerry Springer and Suzanne Summers had children they would sell books about naturally curing couch potatoism, but no one would ever lift a finger to buy one. The dedicated couch potato is adept at actually knowing which station correspond to which numbers on cable. I didn’t say “dial” because television stopped having dials thirty years ago. Between the obesity and the diabetes, the life expectancy of most couch potatoes does not reach beyond about fifty or so. Whether it’s the atrophied mind or the atrophied body that gives out first is anyone’s guess. Yet on lazy Sunday afternoon when all your work is already done for the semester, it’s really hard to be either productive or hard-working when you know that Monday morning is only hours away. If you are a couch potato, great, let it all hang out, but if you aren’t, get out your summer hat and shades and go for a walk. The exercise you do today, will always pay off tomorrow.
On relaxing
One would think that writing about relaxation would be a walk in the park, but I am so stressed out. My good Minnesota-Lutheran ethics just won’t allow me to relax because relaxing is the same as being a good-for-nothing bum. If you aren’t working, you are slacking! Yet, if I work all the time, I get to the point where I start forgetting to do things, get cranky and ornery, and I become ineffective. But if I relax for a moment I feel guilty, and I need to get back to work. What is wrong with me? Really, what is relaxing, anyway, but not working? I know that all work and no play make Jack a dull boy, but what does that really mean? Nothing but questions tonight, and I am afraid of the answers. For example, let’s just say that I want to sit and read a book that has nothing to do with research or teaching, drink something tasty, and put my feet up. I might even let my book down and doze for a few minutes, letting my glasses fall into my book and my head droops to one side. I might even get a snack that is not only not nutritious, it is downright bad for me. Potato chips would be a good choice. Maybe some salted peanuts. So I just let that pile of exams sit for a day and smoulder. The grass in the yard needs mowing, there are dirty dishes on the counter, the taxes need finishing. There is always something else that needs to be done. Now I don’t want to obsess over this issue of relaxing, but I still find the whole idea of sitting down and not doing something useful to be rather stressful. What if someone sees me relaxing, watching old re-runs of ancient black and white sitcoms? I have heard that relaxing can lower your blood pressure, brighten your outlook, and improve mental health. Who studies relaxing? Seems like a bit of a paradox: it’s as if that paper, by definition, would never get written. Maybe I’ll put on a little music to lighten the mood. Where are my slippers? Maybe I still have some caramel corn left over from Christmas. Should I start to read The Hunger Games tonight? Relaxing is going to damage my self-image, but I think it is something I would like to try, at least once or twice. And if I practice and I like it, I might try again, but without the guilt. Naw.
On sleep
Either sleep is overrated or it’s unappreciated. I often find myself working or writing late into the night, fighting the sandman, wondering if I can just get one more thing done before I drag myself off to bed. And in the morning I struggle to get out of bed, cursing myself for not going to bed earlier. And then the cycle repeats itself. We are creatures of the light, but our brains get tired and full of stuff, so we need sleep to help clear the brain drain and get ready for another day. Recharge the depleted batteries, stretch out the tired muscles, close the aching eyes, shut down the mind entirely for a short period while repairs are being made. Sleep seems like an emergency therapy to repair all the broken synapses that snapped during the day, unable to make ends meet mentally. Yet, I often find sleep to be a safe harbor, a refuge against disaster, a haven against tragedy, and an oasis for the mind. Whether I’m running a meeting, debating a proposal, working with insane software, searching for something lost, delivering a lecture in my second language or straightening out a student’s botched schedule so they can graduate, I put a heavy stress on my mind to come up with new answers, make sense of old ones, ferret out the truth, be sympathetic to someone who needs to vent, repress my own feelings of anger when I am wronged. By the time I have put in a full day, there is not much left upstairs, and I notice that sleep is calling. I have written about sleep, about the lack of same, about insomnia, about sleepiness, about napping, about curling up in a warm, soft bed and drifting off into oblivion, but sleep is still a mystery. Simulating death, we give up our consciousness willingly to rest our minds, imagining all the while that we will wake up again. We must have a lot of faith in our biological functions if we take that for granted, but I would also suggest we have no choice. Without sleep, we would be insane zombies trying like mad to kill each other. Their is no alternative but to lay in the sweet arms of sleep and give ourselves away for eight hours. Sometimes it’s hard to fall asleep, sometimes it’s hard to wake up, but the relaxation that sleep offers is both balm to the tired soul and a refuge for the weary.
