If people were meant to pop out of bed, we’d all sleep in toasters.

I like sleep, but I hate going to sleep. The times where it actually feels good and deliciously relaxing to fall asleep are always the times when I shouldn’t be… like in a lecture theatre, or in the sun at a park with Devin, or on the couch in the middle of the day, or in the hammock on the veranda (Devin loves swinging in the hammock, but his reasons are different to mine). But in bed at night, it’s just boring. Yep, just in case I hadn’t adequately emphasised how quickly I become disinterested in things – I am bored by falling asleep. I sometimes think I have such ridiculous, sprawling, complicated, vivid dreams just because my brain is looking for something to do. (On a side note, I’ve been having horrendously gruesome dreams lately. I’ve had some doozies before, but oh man… I can’t even repeat them to Jene. They’re not scary in the sense that I wake up frightened… They’re just – ‘just’ – extremely disturbing.)

I’m also a night person. I feel much more awake and productive when the sun goes down – sunshine usually just makes me want to have a nap. If it were up to me, my awake hours would be more 10am to 2am, rather than 7am to 11pm. But, I live in a society that functions mostly on an ‘up with the sun, down with the sun’ schedule, and I have a toddler who adheres strictly to that rule. Almost every night I find myself really perking up from 8pm, and all is peachy – until the guilt starts creeping in.

10pm – ‘I should start preparing for bed.’

11pm – ‘I really should be actually in bed by now.’

Midnight – ‘Are parents of children even allowed to be up this late?’

Incidentally, it’s midnight right now. The guilt sucks, but I feel guilty about pretty much everything these days, and it’s hard to make myself get sleep when I always feel tired, whether I’ve had four hours of sleep or eight.

And my eyes have had their little black bags for as long as I can remember… No amount of sleep will ever change those babies.


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