Turning the Crank

I've been working this week on going to bed at a decent hour. And by decent hour, I mean before midnight. Figured I'd shoot low and see what happens. As you can see from the time I'm posting this blog entry, it's not going well. My fault for getting myself so off track to begin with. But Sam was out of town for a few days, and, well, ever since my house was broken into a few years back, I've had a hard time sleeping in houses by myself. Not apartments, just houses. I feel much safer in an apartment setting, presumably because of the gated entry and numerous neighbors that are likely to hear something happen and blah, blah, blah. But being in a big house by myself creeps me out.

I used to cherish being home alone when I was in high school. Growing up in a family of six, there were rarely times when I got to be home alone, so when I was, I took advantage of every minute of my solitude. Played my music up loud, watched whatever I wanted to on TV. Sometimes, I would just sit on the couch downstairs, in the dark, and listen to the sound of pure silence. I LOVED it. Still do. Back then, we lived out in the "country", and it was (and still is, really) a very safe place to live. I could ride my bike around the neighborhood at 3:00 in the morning if I wanted to and not worry about a thing.

But now, I tend to worry more than I did at 17. In an attempt to help fix my internal clock, I took an Advil PM on Sunday night and Monday night, but I hate how groggy it makes me feel the next day. Plus, I don't really want to get dependent on those to fall asleep again. Been there, done that (college, anyone?). But I hate tossing and turning all night. It's hard for me to turn my brain off, come bed time. I've been that way for as long as I can remember.

When I was little, I would frequently have nights where I just could not fall asleep. I would lay there in bed, and stare up at the ceiling, just thinking about things. Eventually, I would run into my parents' room, and wake my mom up to inform her, in a very matter-of-fact way, that I couldn't sleep. She would walk me back to my bedroom, never getting upset with me. It was a family trait, she would say, this inability to shut your brain off. She did the same thing when she was little like me. I cringed at the thought of having to deal with this for the rest of my life. So she would kneel beside my bed and pretend to turn a crank by my ear, proclaiming that now my brain was officially turned off so I could fall asleep. And ya know what? It worked every time.

Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I think about all of those nights when my mom would do this for me. I still try to turn my brain off and stop thinking so much when I can, but to no avail. Just doesn't work as good as when Mom would do it. I guess it's not supposed to. I mean, moms have magical powers, right?