Insomnia

Sleeping is one of my favorite pastimes. And contrary to many other things I like to do (and trust me, the Dutch person hiding inside of me hates saying this), I’m actuall pretty good at it. I mean, I can’t shoot a good game of pool if my life depended on it, in spite of the fact that my parents had a pooltable in our basement for years. Deep in my heart I also know I will never appear on Broadway (I keep myself happy by claiming that sometimes dreams do come true), and the saying “dance like no one is watching” was obviously written for me. However, when it comes to sleeping, I’m a natural. In fact, if sleeping were an Olympic Sport, I would be a medalist for sure. I’ve slept through the whine of airplane engines warming up less than half a mile away, smoke alarms do absolutely nothing for me, and I’ve also been known to incorporate whatever pesky sound my alarm makes into my dreams, thus sleeping on blissfully. When I’m tired, nothing can stop me. And I mean, nothing, not even the possibility of public embarrassement. I’ve slept pretty much anywhere, from a bus terminal tarmac in Poland, to airport lounges all over the world, to several complicated indie films at international film festivals (I used to joke I have paid possibly hundreds of dollars to fall asleep at world renown movies), to a boring business lecture, to a friend’s birthday party. And although I’m not proud of especially the last two “achievements” (although on my behalf, they both occurred a long time ago), you have to admit that my track record is not bad at all.

However, every once in a blue moon, and much to my chagrin, I won’t be able to sleep through the night. I’ll wake up sometime after midnight, and find myself unable to fall back asleep. I’ll toss and turn, and envy husband-dear snoring away quietly. Usually, I’ll fall asleep after about an hour or so of staring at the ceiling fan, but sometimes even that doesn’t happen, and I know I’m in for one of those nights. A night when sleep isn’t going to come until thirty minutes before the alarm goes off.

Last night was one of those nights. And as I laid in bed, positively jealous of husband-dear out cold at my side, and Zoe curled up at our feet making funny little dog sounds, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat elated at the fact that of all the places I could be lying awake in the middle of the night, I was in the US, the country that truly never sleeps. For those of you who have ever been wide awake in the middle of the night in Europe, you may know what I’m talking about. In Europe, your range of middle-of-the-night activities are severely restricted. Of course, you could read a book, but anything more exciting than that, and you’re, well, up a creek without a paddle. The radio will play nothing but depressingly sappy love songs that will render your already unstable being even more emotional. If you were to turn on the TV, you’re stuck watching an endless loop of some indescribably boring program (think gardening shows for old people, a rerun of a late night talk show, or a ten minute news broadcast), and don’t even think about going anywhere.

Here in the US, on the other hand, I have such a plethora of opportunities available to me in the middle of the night, just thinking about all of them made me tired. For starters, of course, there are the 100+ TV channels, with the syndication channels such as TVLand always playing cool old shows at two in the morning. Then there is the ever-reliable Walmart. What better time to shop for embarrassing feminine products, or buy that DVD you’ve been thinking about, or get those 300 pictures developed, than 3:30am? And if you don’t feel like perusing through the end-of-the-year sales, you can always opt for an early breakfast at Waffle House, or do some grocery shopping.

Now obviously, I have yet to do any of those things. The most exciting thing I have ever done when I couldn’t sleep was get up and put together a midterm exam. But usually I stay in bed, and happily consider all the things I could be doing, and then decide that they are all really too much trouble. Most of the time, when I think about putting on some clothes, getting my purse, and driving to Walmart, I’m asleep by the time I pull into the parking lot. But one of these days, I promise, I will go there. Just to tell you all what it’s like. And stock up on pantyliners of course.