Chasing Sleep Is Like the O.J. Simpson Manhunt

Back in my teens, I’d sleep until noon, clocking in a solid 11 or 12 hours of beautifully uninterrupted Zzzzz’s. And this was no small feat living on a busy street where 18-wheelers rumbled past my house convoy-style. But back then, I slept like a cat by a sunny window, only awakening after a half-day to eat.

Fast-forward to sleep as a 50-year-old.

The night begins innocently enough as I head to bed around 11 p.m. I set my alarm for 6:15 a.m., hop into bed and look forward to dozing off quickly. (In my world, this means 30 minutes or less.)

But sleep does not come quickly as a Tweenior. In mid-life, sleep now eludes me like the O.J. Simpson manhunt – slow and steady for hours, evading me, minute by ticking minute.

LAPD chasing O.J.’s white Bronco

Annoyingly, a continual cavalcade of trivial thoughts chase me, like the LAPD on the white Bronco’s tail.

I’m so tired! I hope I fall asleep soon. I’ve got to take P to school early tomorrow. Oh, shoot, I forgot to pack his lunch. I’ll make a quick sandwich in the morning and throw a piece of fruit in his lunchbox. Did I buy apples this week? That reminds me, I need to pick up more milk. I should probably stop at the store tomorrow. Tomorrow is Tuesday, right? Ooh, it’s Taco Tuesday at Tijuana Flats. They’ve got the best tacos! Where did I just see a great recipe for tacos? Was it Emeril’s segment on Good Morning America? Lara Spencer was so funny the other day when she was dancing in her chair on GMA. She seems like she would be so fun to hang out with. Why don’t I hang out with anyone like that? I really need to broaden my circle of friends.

And on it goes, as I succumb to a stream-of-consciousness mindset that would make Walter Mitty proud, with each stupid thought transitioning into the next. And before I know it . . .

Crap, it’s 2:18 a.m. already. I can’t believe I’m not asleep yet. I have to get up in four hours! Stop thinking! Just stop it right this second. No thoughts. No thoughts. No thoughts.

At least O.J. had his ride-along buddy, Al Cowlings, with him during his long, tedious chase. Where is my Al Cowlings?

In the dark, I look over at my Al Cowlings. Kevin – my support system, my buddy – is fast asleep.

Why can’t I just shut my brain off? Kevin is so lucky. He can fall asleep in under two minutes. Listen to him, with his steady breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Who does he think he is anyway?

The night drags on, as random thoughts continue to march incessantly across my brain. It’s like sleep is flipping me the middle finger. But finally, I start to drift off when . . . THUD.

What was that? Was it the cat? No, he’s sleeping on my feet. It was probably just P banging his leg on the wall again when he rolled over. But what if it wasn’t? Should I check?

Eyes wide open now, I listen acutely for more thuds or feet shuffling or creaks on the floorboards. But nothing. I look at the clock again – 5:02 a.m. Are you freakin’ kidding me?

I’m at that critical juncture now – to attempt to sleep or not? Should I just get up at this point, knowing it will take me f-o-r-e-v-e-r to fall back asleep only to have my alarm go off soon anyway? But it’s only 5:02 a.m.! I am NOT getting up out of spite. Screw you, sleepless night!

So I lay there for an hour, asserting my sleepy free will and refusing to get out of bed. Somehow, this makes me feel in control of this sleepless cycle that I’m caught up in.

I’ve officially given up on my dream of sleeping like a teen anymore. But I’ve got to work on my ride-along buddy. Al Cowlings did not fall asleep at the wheel.