Sixty and sleepless
So I'm not sleeping very well these days. I'd like to think by now I should be sleeping like a newborn. My kids are grown and employed and fabulous. The grandson hasn't bit anyone at school this week and my ninety two year mama has recently moved to heaven to torment my dad for eternity. I've earned a good night's sleep.
But I recently turned sixty and stopped taking my antidepressant and I can't stay asleep. I nod off just fine and then oy, there I am about four AM needing to get up and Swiffer the entire house.
I try not to. Well, unless I have to pee and then its game over. Another gift of being sixty. But here's a technique a friend taught me years ago as a way of getting back to sleep. Decorate in your imagination.
For me, sometimes it's as simple as one room in my house and I put white slip covers on my furniture, I rearrange everything and put market fresh peoniess in a vase on a barn board table that I bought for fifty bucks at the flea market and then my life is perfect.
But on those really sleepless nights, I transport myself. It might be to an apartment in Paris where those big floor length windows open to the view of the Seine and of course I'm looking just gorgeous and I speak perfect French. Or It might be to a beach house in Malibu. All windows and turquoise and mid century and the ocean air gives my hair incredible volume. Sometimes I build a whole house from scratch.
And then suddenly I realize I'm snoring. And dreaming about this sofa.