For many years, whenever I had trouble sleeping, Alan would say, "I wish I could teach you to relax."
But he's not allowed to say that anymore, because I always took it the wrong way (it's pretty much a policy now).
Life is a little stressful these days. Moving always make me tense.
It's fine during the day. There's enough to do that I don't have time to worry. But as soon as I start to wind down to bedtime, my brain, no longer needing to bother with all that tedious walking! and talking! and making sense! starts to race.
Faster and faster it goes, taking my heart rate and breathing with it, until sleep? Sleep is but a distant memory. Some of you may be familiar with this scenario.
Last night, Alan talked me down. Promised me that everything that needs to get done in the next couple of weeks (and there's a LOT that needs to get done!) will, indeed, get done. It always has in the past, it will this time.
Which made enough sense to me that I was able to close my eyes and drift away to a deep and dreamless slumber.
At 12:30, he sat bolt upright in bed, agitated.
I opened one of the eyes that had just enjoyed an hour and a half of precious, precious sleep and respectfully and gently inquired what was wrong. I believe the exact phrase I used was, "...gnuh?"
By this point, he had flung back the covers and was exiting the bed.
"Mmmmm..." I dutifully sniffed. There was, indeed, a faintly smoky quality to the air, which is not uncommon in these parts. I drifted back to sleep.
A few minutes later, he came back through the bedroom on his way to the deck. "I'm still smelling it. I don't know where it's coming from."
Snoozing gently, I was awakened yet again, when he muttered, "Well I don't know where it's coming from." And flopped back on the bed, thus ending my night's sleep.
Geez. I wish I could teach him to relax....