Sleep
Love Letter Day 20.
I really ran out of time today to write, so it’s going to be particularly undercooked, but I have been thinking all day about all the things I want to say, so when I have adequate time (tomorrow) I will be sure to outline and create some really boss letters to close out this National Love Letter Writing Month. NaLoLeWriMo?
Today I had barely any time to do anything because my husband and I were blessed with an entire 10 hour day off from childcare, which meant we hit all the items on our “make a house a home” To Do List. I’m so tired from running errands I could die.
My husband’s phone profile image for my contact page is a picture of me sleeping with our cat curled up by my arm, like I’m trying to put my hand on its indifferent shoulder. It’s sweet. My own phone wallpaper is a goofy picture of our son as a 7 month old, crushing my exhausted face with the weight of visible infant wails. In other words, both of us have pictures of me being sleepy.
Do you remember when Rory McElroy dumped his girlfriend Caroline Wozniacki after she publicly posted a picture of him sleeping with his mouth open? I think about this a lot. I wonder if she has tempted photographing anyone asleep, since.
There was a blog many years ago that exclusively ran pictures of Japanese salarymen asleep on trains. I thought it was hilarious until I wondered if it was inappropriate. It’s funny because they’re salarymen, but it would be awful if they were working women, somehow. I think it’s still more funny than not. These poor guys love sleeping in those soporific train cars.
Was Lindsay Lohan indeed passed out in the photo of her that’s frequently compared to the sculpture of the ecstasy of Saint Teresa? Maybe she is a Japanese salaryman.
I used to have insomnia, and was prescribed Ambien. My favorite thing to do was fight the effects of the pill. Those delirious nights were some of the best. I love fighting sleep. Except these days I have no problem sleeping and I’ll tell you why I have no more teeth grinding, no more restless leg syndrome, no more talking in my sleep. It’s because I hold tight to the notion of a beautiful sleep—photogenic, adequate, inspired, and I write, right up until the second I close my eyes: you.