THE RAVELED SLEEVE OF CARE

THE RAVELED SLEEVE OF CARE

It was one of those nights. First, I fell asleep on the sofa watching TV at 8:00 p.m. At 9:00 p.m. Art woke me up and gently guided me toward the bedroom. Like a sleepy child, I just managed brush my teeth and then gratefully slid under the covers. I slept peacefully while Art watched the ten o’clock news. Then the TV went off. It was now about 10:30. I had a hot flash.

Ladies – If you have reached a certain age, you know what I’m talking about. For the uninitiated, I’ll try to give you a brief description. Imagine that you are being roasted from the inside out. That’s a hot flash.

So at about 10:30 I woke up. Completely. Now I had to go through my little mantra, counting backwards from 100, which sometimes seems to help. “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety. . .GOD I’M SO HOT”!!! (Toss, turn, nightgown off, covers off). “Ninety-one, no, ninety . . .Maybe I should open a window – But it’s so noisy out there! . . .Ninety-seven. . . I know! I’ll take a pill! Maybe that’ll help. Just knock myself out. But which pill? Pain pill P.M.? No, I’m not in pain. Allergy pill? Yeah, but sometimes it makes my heart race – and besides, they’re habit-forming. . . Just try counting backwards again. One hundred. . .”

And so it went for, I don’t know, maybe an hour? At some point, I fell asleep.

Two-thirty p.m. Time to tinkle. My eyes open reluctantly. “Oh God. I really don’t want to get up now. I know that once I’m vertical, it will take another hour to fall back to sleep. But what to do? If I don’t get up I’ll burst.” So to the bathroom. Then back to bed. Now semi-awake. Another hot flash. “ Great. I can’t take a pill now because if I do I won’t be awake until noon. Just count backwards, Robin. Try putting your hand in the ‘mudra’ the yoga teacher taught the other day. That’s it. Thumbs gently but firmly touching. That connects the two sides of the brain. There you go. No, it’s not working. Crap. Ninety-eight, ninety-seven . . . Namaste! Crap . . .” I look at the digital clock with the glow-in-the-dark numbers. Three forty-seven. (Toss, turn, wiggle, covers off, covers on). I look at the clock. Four 0-six.

“Alright. Just relax. Just lie here and rest. That’s almost as good as sleep. Eighty-nine, eighty-eight . . . Maybe I should get up and start my day. But if I don’t get some sleep I’m going to be bleary-eyed tomorrow. I’ve got to drive across town twice tomorrow. I don’t want to be on the road feeling that way! Eighty-seven . . . Eighty-seven . . . Eighty-seven . . .”

The clock says 5:30 a.m. Now I must get up and start my day. I lie there for one luxurious moment. A famous line from Macbeth comes to me: “Sleep, which knits the raveled sleeve of care”. I imagine my own raveled sleeve, gray, tattered, shop-worn, and then imagine a disembodied pair of needles (about a size 7), and this beautiful grayish-purplish hand-dyed wool, and the beautiful wooden needles slowly and methodically knitting all this mess together into a gorgeous whole. “Shakespeare”! I marvel. Then I am asleep.

© 2005, Robin Munson

JUST A THOUGHT

JUST A THOUGHT

I know I have argued before in favor of sloth and leisure. Today I am going to do the opposite. I am going to ask the musical question, “What could we do if we didn’t have to sleep?”

Those extra eight hours would come in real handy for, oh, say a full-time job. Then you would still have sixteen hours left over for almost anything you can name.

Think of it. If we didn’t have to sleep, we would have twenty-four hours instead of a measly sixteen in which to accomplish all of our most treasured goals – and still have time to goof off. With an extra eight hours a day, every woman could be a Martha Stewart. We could make our own lamps, grow our own prize-winning tomatoes, design and create our own clothing, and even raise the kids all by ourselves, instead of having to call in a professional nanny.

Or you could live pretty much the way you do now (minus the sleep), and save up all those extra hours for vacation. You would suddenly have time to travel. And you would have the money to travel, too, because by saving up your extra hours every day and working, you would accumulate overtime like mad. Then every six months you could take a cruise or fly to Fiji.

With an extra eight hours a day you would have time to resolve all your differences with friends and family. When a conflict arose, you would have the time to put your life on hold, sit down with the person in question, and chase down every argument to its logical conclusion. (Presumably, they would too, since they’re not sleeping, either).

Think of this: If you didn’t have to sleep you would have time to go back to school or do an Internet course and finally get that degree you’ve always dreamed of. You could learn a foreign language. Or maybe you would finally have the time to write the Great American Novel. Finally, you could go to the gym five times a week and really get in shape.

With an extra eight hours a day, you might volunteer for a worthy cause. You might build houses for Habitat for Humanity or go to work for the Peace Corps. You might teach literacy or become a child’s mentor.

What a waste it is to sleep, when we could be so much more constructive! But of course, we mere mortals must have our down time so that our bodies and our minds can be refreshed and revived. (Sigh).

I heard a statistic the other day that stunned me. The average American household spends seven hours a day in front of the TV. It’s not quite eight, but then, a lot of people only sleep seven hours, and the result is pretty much the same. So what if. . .? Just a thought.

© 2005, Robin Munson