Well my goodness. I slept until 9:40am. That hasn’t happened in 20 years. Of course, I was up for a while, sometime in the dark morning, but still. Sleep! Sweet, oblivious, restorative sleep!
I always heard that Nod can desert us as we age. I imagined I’d be safe. Ha. Pride goeth before a fall, and years of sweet dreams precede a terrible familiarity with 2:30am.
I have a few strategies. First, I try to worry a lot before I fall asleep. Sounds counter-intuitive, but I find that if I ferret out that which I might have glossed over during the day, if I worry and sort, I can put to rest those issues that might otherwise wake me later on. Second, I watch British television. Not the boring sort – although there isn’t as much of that as there used to be – but the gorgeous sagas and comedies.
For example, Ricky Gervais’ HBO comedy special. Or, as I have said before, Doc Martin. More recently, Downton Abbey, and just now, Parade’s End, playing on HBO. I swear the plummy tones of Benadict Cumberpatch’s voice talk me right into River Lethe. (Although I keep hoping the bad girl wins.)
And so off to Pinterest. It’s far easier to daydream, I find, when the night dream cousins have been fed.
(Note: the blog is displaying oddly today. Technical geniuses are working to fix it.)