I must be the only person in the whole wide world who is awake.
I remember thinking that as my 7-year-old self imagined a world with clear streets, empty buildings, and no conscious people anywhere….except me.
I laid face up in my bed and rubbed my red and blue plaid blanket across my knuckles for comfort.
I could hear my sister snoring lightly beneath me in the bottom bunk.
She could always fall asleep at the drop of a hat and never had any trouble dreaming til daylight.
Not me. The gene of unbroken rest didn’t pass to me.
Maybe that’s why night and I have never been the best of friends.
I was reminded of our friction this week.
I’d doze for a couple of hours and then would be awake for the rest of the night.
Or I’d slumber straight through morning but wake up still feeling tired.
Or better yet, I’d climb into bed and lay there for hours and hours until sleep decided to show up.
The experience mirrored my sleep life growing up.
My father would ask,
“What are you thinking about?
You’re thinking too much.”
Maybe I was then.
Maybe I am now.
Either way, I pray for sweet relief.