sleep, an enemy for life

Around 9 pm the day's dirt and debris collected on my skin starts to creep me out, so it's time for a shower. As 9:30 rolls around, I'm sitting comfy in my flannel pj's, watching a medical mystery show, or some HGTV if I'm feeling crafty. Here comes 10 pm 'round the bend and I've got a serious case of the sleepies. I hop in that bed snug as bug, wrapped tighter than a burrito with only a breathing hole visible. Lights out, thirty minutes worth of tossing and turning and my mind turns black. Then the moving pictures start to play in the back's of my eyes. I can usually manage a good 3-4 hours of non-stop dream sequences before the theatre manager turns on the lights and escort me to the exit, because now I have to pee. I peed right before bed, but my bladder waits for no one. More nights than not, I'll trip over a dog, spill the water next to the bed and fumble into the bathroom to get the deed done. Back to sleep, except not, because now I'm annoyingly alert after the mini pee expedition. Can't get comfortable, the dog keeps snoring, Mark is twitching, fuck my life. Sleep comes back to me, but off and on. It is a fickle friend who visits me as often as a child does their ailing, nursing-home-bound parents. I put in over ten hours of attempted sleep time and, at best, reap about six hours of actual rest. Coffee is my only true friend these days.