Half the people I know are sleep challenged. I will not use the “I” word – it evokes too much hopelessness. Not that there is much to elicit a jolly optimism in the realm of fractured dreams. Okay – that would be literal, not figurative.
Something has gone wrong with the biology of snoredom. It’s harder and harder to achieve that solid seven or the rare and elusive eight. Is it a general malaise? Or a zeitgeist full of angst? Or is there an English term we can employ here to aid ourunderstanding? Maybe it’s evolutionary; maybe it’s a harbinger of the demise of the species. I’m not going to answer the big questions here. (I know, you were so hoping.)
What I want to address is what to do with all that extra time spent not sleeping.
Write a book? Knit a sweater? How about mid-night dates…for a quick game of half-asleep Scrabble or such. Can we set up Skype or FaceTime meetings for the 3am crowd? PJ’s permitted of course.
I see – in my crystal ball – a trend. Throw away your Ambien; toss your Lunesta. Embrace your sleeplessness. Why not just say, What the fuck? I’m tired and I know it – deal with it. Maybe, just maybe, the long inert state that we occupy so readily when we are young, is not supposed to persist after youth has vanished. Maybe we are just meant to catnap or grab a few less winks. I’m just saying.
When the first post-Midnight at the Oasis opens in Manhattan, a trendy light-fare restaurant and low-key music joint, I’ll know that we are onto a new relationship with our inner clockworks. I can see it spreading to the heartlands (well…perhaps.)
If you’re up at 2 or 4 and you start to panic because you know that tomorrow (which is already today) will be a groggy one, buck up. You are not alone. We’re all pretty zombie’d out. Take a good look into the eyes of the next random person you see and you will know I’m right. No one is home behind those half-lidded eyes.
And that’s okay. We’re doing fine, aren’t we?