Somewhere around the 4th decade, slumber & I became estranged. Up until then I was sleep’s patsy. I took after my father, a man who could drift off despite the quarts of coffee he downed. Just shy of narcolepsy, he & I were known to fall asleep if sitting still. On long drives to campgrounds, or sisters living some distance away, we passengers would sometimes be tasked with rolling the windows down for a bracing wind or striking up loud conversation until the next rest stop.

This had naught to do with a lack of adequate rest at night; slept practically entombed for at least 8 hrs. We shared another trait as well: being fidgety. He’d often pace & jingle loose change in his trouser pockets. I fiddled with stuff, chewed my nails, monkeyed around on the furniture, literally climbed the walls. Our hallways were narrow enough for me to press my back against one wall & walk my feet up the other; I’d discovered a superpower!

Middle-age brought physiological shifts, as it is wont to do. What was previously known about this vessel I inhabit went ‘Poof!’ I had to relearn my body’s operating system all over again. The new normal came with glitches in the code. The gradual loss of a fidgety nature barely registered; I no longer bit my nails or climbed walls. That busy-ness went somewhere else. It lodged in my circadian rhythm, for sleep wanted little to do with me now. A study in ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

My childhood goal was to stay up late with my sisters. Our parents weren’t strict on bedtimes & would often retire before their brood. Most likely exhausted by our sheer numbers & finding other battles more worthy. We’d watch old B&W movies, like Marx Brothers, Mae West, etal., & try to stifle our giggling. Invariably I would conk out after mere minutes. I missed the fun because I couldn’t stay awake. In scenarios such as The Bodysnatchers or A Nightmare on Elm Street, I would’ve been the first victim.

I grew accustomed to this. Get on a bus to go to work & it was up to luck I didn’t miss my stop. Minus the splotch of drool that drenched my shirt, only mildly inconvenient. Go to a movie I was eager to see & be jostled by friends to stop the snoring. It didn’t always happen, but enough to be a nuisance. I once fell asleep leaning against a wall at a loud rock concert. One time operating a deafening collating machine. Not to mention whilst proofreading actuarial reports, but some of my coworkers were right there with me in Z-town. It never surprised & had ceased to embarrass me. 

Sure, I’ve confessed to ingesting large quantities of narcotics throughout my life. Not all those substances were soporific. The up ones merely ignited obsessive-compulsive tendencies, hyper-focusing me on ridiculously awful projects. I’d look at these when the drugs wore off & cringe WTF? Illegal stimulants + me = things that go in the trash. They caused a waste of supplies & time. Then the cosmic irony clock reset to give me those ill-spent hours back…when I least wanted them.

Many long for more hours in a day to accomplish whatever. In place of lying awake only dreaming of sleep, I get up & do something productive. It’s that or die of boredom. My current circadian rhythm is probably cited in the dictionary under the definition of ‘inconsistent.’ This comes with a yearning of the ‘to sleep, perchance to dream’ variety. Skip Hamlet’s metaphor & go with the literal. I miss those loopy nocturnal movies, even the nightmares. I marvel at how creative a subconscious can be. Or I did, before it closed up shop & left no forwarding address.

I could use these ill-gotten hours for fomenting rebellion. I don’t know the first thing about inciting a revolution, though. I just know capitalism has got to go. Being a person of words & pictures, I could help paint the banners, I suppose. As Earth sears by too many cooks & over-seasons with toxins, dreams of any kind are even more elusive. There’s a case to be made that nobody should be sleeping anyway. Collectively we’ve slept long enough. Though some of us weren’t in bed with Denial.

Strangely, I’m nostalgic for the humiliating ways my previous narcolepsy presented. For one college quarter the Art History segment I wanted was only available in evening classes. It ran for 2 hrs, 2 nights a week. Class consisted of looking at slides in the dark & taking notes on the lecture. This segment covered Ancient Art up to Medieval. Perhaps not the best segment to attend at night with its lengthier time.

The note-taking was minimal in the first couple classes, with only approximate dates & no artist names to take down. Before getting to the more involved art of, say, ancient Egypt, we covered cave paintings of people hunting animals, in 1 or 2 faded colors on brown stone. Next were lumpy goddess idols of baked clay or carved rock, in mauve or gray. Then came assorted ruins & ziggurats, beige on backdrops of…more beige. Etc. I’m not one to disparage monochromatic pieces, I’ve painted many myself. But hours in the evening with nary a brilliant pigment or intricate pattern, this produced a lulling effect.

With my elbow on the desk, head resting on my hand to glance from slide to notes, next came the inevitable. I can’t say how long I was out, but the wake-up was extreme. My head slid off its perch. It smacked the desk– BOOM! Lecture abruptly stopped. The instructor & a couple classmates asked “Are you OK?” Others chuckled. Dazed by the bonk to my noggin, I blurt “I’m good,” now conscious enough to be thankful I didn’t land on my nose.

We’ve all landed on our noses though. Anyone’s guess whether we’ll find the tissue to stanch the blood. I may be cynical, but deep down I’m hopelessly enamored of life here. All life– even ours. Even if we don’t deserve it. We’re messy & stupid & destructive, & I loathe us so much sometimes. OK, admittedly, most times. But if you pan the lens out, take some time-lapse footage over the past 300K years, & view us as just another animal on the planet, we’re ludicrous. We’re the most ridiculous creature here. We’ve perfected pretending as if we’re not repeatedly banging our heads on a desk.