Half Full and Half Empty: A Morning Dialogue

Dear Diary,
I've been waking up early lately.  Someone tell my brain it is summer, and I don't need to
wakey wakey at 5:30 a.m.  The problem is not necessarily the waking, it is the tossing and turning afterward, the refusal to relax, turn over, and go back to sleep.

Here is how a dialogue starts in my brain at 5:30 a.m.  Since a dialogue requires more than one person, I have provided names for better comprehension: Half Full and Half Empty.

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Half Empty: What time is it?

Half Full: Don't peek. I don't want to know; it doesn't matter. Just turn over and go back to sleep.

Half Empty: I'm a little cold.

Half Full: Pull up the covers.

Half Empty: But then I have to move.

Half Full: But you'll be warmer.

Half Empty: Maybe I should use the bathroom.

Half Full: Naw, you'll be fine for another hour or so. Besides, that will really wake you up.

Half Empty: But I will lie here thinking about trying not going to the bathroom when I really do.

Half Full: Fine, go. Then you can relax.

[moments later]

Half Full: All better?  Pull up those covers and relax. We've still got time for another dream!

Half Empty: Okay. [pause]    You know that church outreach program in December? I need to find a children's coordinator for that.

Half Full: Fine. Let's think through that when we are awake.

Half Empty: But I've got to figure out who to recruit. I mean, should I ask someone personally or put an ad in the bulletin?  No one ever responds to those ads, but I should try-- that is, if I can't think of someone to ask personally.

Half Full: Fine, yes. We'll talk about this later.

Half Empty: Should I have a theme this year? Would a Western Nativity Festival be a little weird?  Cowboy hats and ropes and horses to go along with the wise men and baby Jesus?

Half Full: Go to sleep.

Half Empty: This position isn't comfortable, maybe I need to inflate my sleep number.

Half Full: Go to sleep!

Half Empty: Is that sunlight coming through the blinds? What time is it, anyway?

Half Full: SLEEP!

Half Empty: Hey this could be a funny blog post.

Half Full: Hilarious. Can it wait until we are up?

Half Empty: It should be a dialogue of what goes through our head when we are tossing and turning in the morning. What shall we call ourselves?

Half Full: Shhhhh!

Half Empty: Yin and Yang? Pessimist and Optimist? Half Full and Half Empty?

Half Full: Fine. Let's get up.

Half Empty: But look at all the time we have to sleep still!

Half Full: Ain't gonna happen. Let's just get up.

Half Empty: Fine!

Half Full: Fine!!

Half Empty: Fine!!!

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Have a well-rested, Half Full day!
LJ

Confessions of a Snorer's Wife

Dear Diary,

My first 20-or-so years of marriage have been blissfully absent of snoring, the cause of so many spousal spats and fitful nights for other couples.  But in recent years, my husband -- God bless him-- has developed some upper respiratory problems which affect his nighttime breathing.

Now, my evening's repose includes sounds ranging from a purring Chewbacca, to an angry sow, to a monotone dolphin, whistling through its blowhole. It is an unwelcome cacophony as I try to get my well-deserved rest at the end of my day.

Being the genteel person that I am, I do not do what I envision some wives may, which is to straddle their husband, take him by the neck, and shake him awake while yelling, "Stop making all that racket!" 

But that scenario is purely speculation on my part.

No, no.  I take a much more passive aggressive approach. Subtle. Innocuous. That's me.

The goal is to startle my husband enough to change his sleeping position and/or interrupt his sleep cycle so that his breathing/snoring changes. Even the methodic sound of Darth Vader's asthmatic breathing beside me would be a balm to my ears at 1 a.m. 

Here are some of my coping mechanisms.

• The cough.  Utter a well-timed quick, loud sound, such as a cough or yelp, to startle the snorer.
• The position change.  This entails shifting my body in such a way as to create a large bounce or jiggle in the mattress, allowing physics to carry the energy to his side, thus giving him a cushioned jolt. This also can be accompanied by a cough and an exhuberant fluffing of the pillow.  Well, really more like a punching of the pillow..... 
  Note: Having changed to a Sleep Number bed, this technique is not as effective.  You know, wine glass... bowling ball....
• Bodily contact.  This includes a quick jab of the elbow or kick with the toes.  It is not meant to be prolonged, but enough to startle the snorer without making him aware that his spouse just performed an act of aggression on him.  Sometimes the act can be accompanied by an innocent sounding "Sorry, honey."
• The earplugs.  This is my last resort before changing bedrooms.  It is a last resort because I don't like them. 
  First, it goes against all my motherly instincts.  I have three children and a dog.  What if they need me in the night and I can't hear their terrified pleas for help, their inconsolable cries for mama? OK. I may be exaggerating.
  Next, once inserted, said earplugs allow me to hear, well, nothing, except for my own breathing and swallowing.  Magnified.  Kinda weird. 
  Last, the earplugs serve as a nice quiet backdrop for my tinnitus to come screaming into my consciousness. 
  Bottom line, it takes a lot of effort for me to relax with earplugs in.

Which leaves me with the last resort: The guest bed.  This is effective only if the bed is made up.

Which reminds me, it's time to take the sheets out of the dryer,
LJ