dog is my copilot
Mar. 25th, 2009 06:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
constanceBack when I was something of a wreck, my sleeping habits were all over the place. I'd stay up till three in the morning when I had to be at work at seven, and then sleep eleven hours the following night, or get four hours of sleep a night for ten nights in a row and then crash for an entire weekend. And I don't by any means believe that my sleeping habits were the cause of my depression, but they certainly didn't do anything to improve matters, and by the time I was ready to do something about it, I'd inadvertently created a kind of vicious circle where the less sleep I got the worse shape I was in, and the worse shape I was in the less likely I was to sleep.
So one of the first things I did when I decided to get my life back in order was to try and regularize my sleeping habits, and I did it and totally stuck to it and it helped so much that now, several years later, I'm still trying to go to bed at the same time every night, give or take an hour. The same for getting up. I doubt it would work for everyone, but sleeping on a schedule seems to be contributing pretty directly to shoring up my equilibrium, and so I make a calculated effort to keep the schedule straight, no matter what I'm up to.
And most nights, I sleep pretty well. I do have to read for a while, in a ritualized comfort-seeking compulsive kind of way, but it doesn't have to be for any length of time; and once I turn out the light, I'm generally asleep within minutes. It's all very satisfying, actually. I'd heard life could be like this! I'd heard you functioned with more clarity and energy when your body got the sleep it required! Who knew those things were true?
Which makes the occasional nights when I don't sleep -- and sometimes you just don't, you know? -- troubling in more than one way. There's the obvious way, of course, the way that goes oh man I have to be at work in four hours please please let me fall asleep soon. But there's also the fuck fuck fuck what if it's all starting up again way. Neither of these impossible-to-avoid attitudes is much help as a soporific, I have to say, and so the anxiety ramps up until in the end I am lying rigid in bed worrying about the sleeplessness and then everything else, too, trying not to watch the clock and waiting for it to tell me it's time to get out of bed.
So this was happening last night. At two o'clock -- or at least, that was the last time I'd looked at the clock -- I was still twisted up in the sheets, staring at the walls, the ceiling, wide awake and trying to get comfortable. And the weirdest thing happened. Leory, who will sometimes jump on the bed with me but never stays once I turn out the light, hopped up and pinned my feet down by lying across them. From the huffy way he did it, I could almost hear him thinking just lie still and relax and it'll happen, you goddamned neurotic, and then maybe I'll get some rest too, and so I did it. I curled around him and dug my fingers into his fur and fell asleep in fifteen minutes with him still lying over me. Dogs are like magic sometimes. Like Ambien without scary side effects. Like the best, most wellbeing-inducing SSRI of all time.
And I repaid Leory's act of kindness (not entirely selfless, maybe, but whoever said acts of kindness had to be?) by paying someone a lot of money this morning to castrate him with a laser. Does this make me a bad person? I think Leory'd say hell yeah, but I'm afraid to ask.
So one of the first things I did when I decided to get my life back in order was to try and regularize my sleeping habits, and I did it and totally stuck to it and it helped so much that now, several years later, I'm still trying to go to bed at the same time every night, give or take an hour. The same for getting up. I doubt it would work for everyone, but sleeping on a schedule seems to be contributing pretty directly to shoring up my equilibrium, and so I make a calculated effort to keep the schedule straight, no matter what I'm up to.
And most nights, I sleep pretty well. I do have to read for a while, in a ritualized comfort-seeking compulsive kind of way, but it doesn't have to be for any length of time; and once I turn out the light, I'm generally asleep within minutes. It's all very satisfying, actually. I'd heard life could be like this! I'd heard you functioned with more clarity and energy when your body got the sleep it required! Who knew those things were true?
Which makes the occasional nights when I don't sleep -- and sometimes you just don't, you know? -- troubling in more than one way. There's the obvious way, of course, the way that goes oh man I have to be at work in four hours please please let me fall asleep soon. But there's also the fuck fuck fuck what if it's all starting up again way. Neither of these impossible-to-avoid attitudes is much help as a soporific, I have to say, and so the anxiety ramps up until in the end I am lying rigid in bed worrying about the sleeplessness and then everything else, too, trying not to watch the clock and waiting for it to tell me it's time to get out of bed.
So this was happening last night. At two o'clock -- or at least, that was the last time I'd looked at the clock -- I was still twisted up in the sheets, staring at the walls, the ceiling, wide awake and trying to get comfortable. And the weirdest thing happened. Leory, who will sometimes jump on the bed with me but never stays once I turn out the light, hopped up and pinned my feet down by lying across them. From the huffy way he did it, I could almost hear him thinking just lie still and relax and it'll happen, you goddamned neurotic, and then maybe I'll get some rest too, and so I did it. I curled around him and dug my fingers into his fur and fell asleep in fifteen minutes with him still lying over me. Dogs are like magic sometimes. Like Ambien without scary side effects. Like the best, most wellbeing-inducing SSRI of all time.
And I repaid Leory's act of kindness (not entirely selfless, maybe, but whoever said acts of kindness had to be?) by paying someone a lot of money this morning to castrate him with a laser. Does this make me a bad person? I think Leory'd say hell yeah, but I'm afraid to ask.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-25 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-25 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-25 11:48 pm (UTC)Luckily, dogs can forgive just about anything.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 01:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 12:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 01:16 am (UTC)He is still making that face. Also, his feet are sliding out from under him a little. Poor anesthesia-drunk puppy.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 01:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 06:12 pm (UTC)Good boy, Leory!
In my teens, I had a cat who would come up on my bed and curl up next to me when I was having terrible cramps. He never did any other time.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-27 07:39 pm (UTC)