I didn’t know, and don’t know still, if I got any sleep at all last night.
I woke up early on Sunday morning – early enough that, had I gotten myself out of bed and towards the vicinity of a cup of coffee or something, I could have gone to church. Instead of doing so, of course, I rolled over and went straight back to sleep.
Had a sex dream; 9am alarm woke me up just as sex was actually about to happen. Thoroughly annoyed by that, although it’s not the first time that’s happened. I hardly ever get to have sex in my dreams, so I wasn’t expecting it right then and there, but still…
Last night was different.
I don’t remember sleeping – although who does? A more accurate statement would be that I don’t remember dreaming! – and I still don’t know if I got any sleep whatsoever. I also don’t remember being particularly awake; I certainly had periods where I felt so. But then I don’t recall feeling any of my trademark boredom, panic, or dark thoughts that usually accompany my insomnia. The night may as well have never happened.
What I do remember, in vivid flashes, is occasional pangs of discomfort. My entire body teetering on the edge of the bed (in order to give them space), ready to fall off. My semi-hard mattress (a very bad choice on my part; I was too chicken to ask for something softer) being a problem for my back. The neck pain I’ve had since our honeymoon occasionally resurfacing with every repositioning.
And, perhaps the most vividly, me clutching onto the bunched duvet like a koala – the sheets wrapped in me, rather than the other way around.
This morning, when asked, I said I was tired. I’m still not entirely sure if I genuinely was. My colleagues and clients all were – making for a slow, calm day at work – and so I decided that I was. I wasn’t sure exactly how to describe how I was feeling, because I didn’t know myself.
But I had a very odd night, and since I have no idea how to describe that, I’m attempting to do so here.
Please forgive me.