Download My Free Simple Guide To Guaranteed Eight Hours Sleep
‘ Why can’t I sleep at night?’
I haven’t written my simple guide to guaranteed eight hours sleep yet- but when it’s done I will definitely let you know and you will be able to download it here as a free e book.
The thing is: I’m rubbish at getting to sleep when I want to. Sit me down in front of the TV after a hard day of work and hammering the keys of my laptop and I’m soon snoozing peacefully, but tuck me into my cozy, warm bed in my darkened bedroom and I’m wide awake. Why can’t I sleep at night?
I’m too excited running over the memories of what made me happy that day that I can’t settle- I want to recall every single detail and relive it, over and over again. It makes me smile and laugh softly to myself: picturing the whole scenario. Yes, that was great, that was really something special; something I’ll never forget. I can’t get to sleep, because I just don’t want to, because I want to live it all over again.
I’m so busy running over the various shades of gloomy possibilities and anticipated disastrous outcomes that I can’t switch off. Really, what is the point of trying to think logically like a true problem-solver when it’s nearly three a.m.? Because there really is no point. After all, logic has never been my strong suit at the best of times, but in the early hours I just haven’t got a chance.
I’ll get up. I’ll make a cup of tea, and that’ll make me feel better. No, I’ll just lie here a little longer and I’m bound to drop off to sleep sooner or later. Three a.m. Four.
When I’ve achieved nothing all day my mind is running down the lists of items that I have not done and therefore will need to get done the next day. And how pointless and frustrating the whole thing is.:
I’m not getting anywhere and I never get anywhere. I am stuck. The fact is: I am trapped. There’s no point in even trying. Now I’m too hot, and I can’t get to sleep..
The menopause. Because I’m burning up to about one million degrees under the duvet; my hair is saturated, my pyjamas are glued to my body. However, stick out so much as a foot to cool down and it quickly freezes in the cold air of the bedroom and needs to be swiftly returned to the clammy safety of the incubator of the duvet cover again.
Get up. Just get up, Christine, and walk around and cool down for a bit. Maybe read for a while. No, no, I need to sleep…..Why can’t I get to sleep at night?
What s/he said
Conversations I’d had that day, and what I should’ve said, but didn’t. If only I’d thought of that at the time!
It seems so obvious now! What an idiot I am! Did s/he really mean it to sound like that, or was it just some kind of a joke that I just didn’t get?
What did s/he really mean when s/he said that? Was it this? Or did s/he really mean that? How is it that I didn’t I see that at the time? What is it about me that makes me so stupid?
Why can’t I just just get to sleep and forget all about it?
Owls, to me, are mysterious and wonderful creatures, winging between the branches of the trees through the hours of darkness. But they are noisy critters, and they pull my imagination to the world outside which is not sleeping. The next thing I know, I am wide awake and watchful; gauging their distance from the house; picturing their outstretched wings, gliding. And then I just can’t get to sleep for listening for their call and response.
Oh boy- yes- all my greatest, most ambitious and exciting plans are made in those insomniac hours when anything is possible!
Plan during the working hours when I am seated at my laptop? No- blank screen on my laptop; blank screen in my head. However, lie down to sleep and my mind is suddenly the most creative place in the universe: cogs and wheels whirring with invention and ambition; sparking with electrical energy, my hair positively bristling with static.
My dad wearing nappies and that awful note behind the clock on the mantelpiece that said ‘Do not resuscitate.’ The living room and the Christmas tree looking like it always did when I went home at Christmas, except for the fact that there was a hospital bed where the dining table used to be, and strangers coming in four times a day; putting on plastic aprons and writing down what they’d done in booklets.
Discussing doses of morphine with my mum in the kitchen. And just not knowing what I should say- to her, or to him.
Feeling so useless.
So baffled by his weakness when he had always been so strong.
Seeing how my mum was angry with him; how she couldn’t really hide it.
A simple Guide to Guaranteed Eight Hours Undisturbed Sleep Every Night
I will release this as a free e-book, once I’ve worked out what to write in it. That’s a promise.