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I have a sleep tracker on my phone that tells me when to go to bed. It seems ridiculous, after all, I’m 41 years old and I’ve been going to bed on my own for quite a while, yet, anyone who’s just wanted to check one more email , have one more smoke, check one last segment on late night, knows we only go to bed because the couch is too uncomfortable.
Even now, my alarm has sounded, I’m sitting here, wanting – needing – to get this post out before bed. That’s what being an adult gets me – the inability to listen to common sense because I’m the boss of me!
My Go To Bed alarm sounds like a thunderstorm and like most of my alarms, it gets louder the longer it’s allowed to alert. I could leave it and listen to it get louder and louder, getting lost in the rumble, but it bothers the cat, and D would only take to reminding me every 10 seconds that it’s time for bed. You can’t be the boss of you when someone is reminding you you’re not really the boss.
My weekend was social, my time was relaxing. My dad stopped by and we found common ground in research. My hair is clean, I had a most relaxing bath. There is no other reason for me to fight sleep. I don’t feel like I left anything undone.
This alarm, this thunder isn’t ushering me to the shelter of sleep to pick up again when the skies are less threatening, leaving conversations unfinished and food uneaten.
This is the thunder of a driving, cleansing rain, washing everything clean for a new week. As I check for the tenth time for typos in this post, easily less than 330 words, I am ready for that pillow, the down comforter, the oblivion.
So here’s my app, thundering and flashing. This week will be long and cold, and I need my rest.