April 2025
Phyllis Shragge

I’ve been in bed for more than two hours. It’s now 1:21 a.m. If I fall asleep in the next nine minutes, I’ll have six hours of sleep tonight. Not a lot, but I can survive on that. 

I try to imagine relaxing on the beach, mesmerized by the sound of the ocean’s waves hitting the shore with a staccato yet reassuringly melodic tempo. I picture the sun beating down, caressing me with its rays, enveloping me with the warmth of a cozy blanket. Surely, this image will help me relax and drop off to sleep.

The sun’s rays do not warm me like a cozy blanket. Instead, my real blanket is suffocating me. I’m way too hot. I toss the blanket off in a fury and once again check the time. Soon it will be 1:30, the deadline for my anticipated six hours of sleep.

As the relaxing-on-the-beach image bites the dust, I fall into a worrying trap. I worry about how early today, I couldn’t remember the name of a movie I had just seen, nor the name of the very famous actor who starred in it. I tell myself that as a senior, it’s normal to forget things. Occasional forgetfulness doesn’t mean I’m getting dementia, does it? 
I think about a recent woe-is-me conversation with one of my daughters. Hopefully, she is correct in her analysis of my disintegrating brain.

“You’ve always had a bad memory when it comes to the names of things,” my daughter said. “Remember when we used to play trivia games? You sucked, and that was 20, 25 years ago. Nothing has changed.”

I guess my memory loss is not new. Maybe I’m functioning normally, at least normally for me.

With this worry more or less resolved, at least for now, I should be able to fall asleep. I wonder what time it is. I glance at my phone.

It’s now 2:21 a.m. If I fall asleep in nine minutes, I’ll have five hours of sleep tonight. Oy vey.

I try to imagine relaxing on a swing in a beautiful park. I’m swinging back and forth, admiring a lovely garden with luxurious flowers of all different colours and textures. I find myself immersed in the calmness of my environment. I will be off to dreamland before I know it.

I can’t focus on the beautiful garden. I’m bombarded with worries that would seem irrelevant during the daytime but in the middle of the night seem pressing, almost life-altering. I feel overwhelmed by things I should have done, things I shouldn’t have done, things I meant to say, things I shouldn’t have said, things I planned for that fell through, and things that I didn’t plan for, but happened anyway. As I dwell on this, it becomes obvious: it all comes down to one word, regret. I know regret is a useless emotion. Normally I buy that adage, but not in the middle of the night when I’m bombarded with insomnia.

I check the time again. 

It’s now 3:21 a.m. If I fall asleep in the next nine minutes, I’ll have four hours of sleep tonight. Double oy vey.
I try to imagine walking through a forest, lush with huge trees. A babbling brook flows alongside my path. Birds chirp in the distance. The atmosphere is blissful and ever so peaceful. If I focus on this image for long enough, surely, I will relax and fall asleep.

I start thinking about what I’m going to pack for my upcoming trip. I’m a goner now. I will never sleep. Being a hopelessly indecisive packer, I’m always rethinking my choices. Now, even though I’m in bed and not actively putting clothes in a suitcase, I’m in packing hell.  Should I pack another sweater? The weather is so unpredictable. Do I need a rain jacket? 

I will be up all night. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such terrible insomnia. I will be a basket case tomorrow. Guaranteed. My alarm rings. It’s now 7:30 a.m. I must have fallen asleep. 

I tell myself I will go to bed early tonight and fall asleep immediately. I will not wake up in the middle of the night.

Sure.