I once had a friend whose mom and dad didn’t just sleep in separate beds — they had entirely separately bedrooms in the same apartment. It seemed weird to me when I learned of it, despite the fact I knew nothing about their private relationship. When the parents eventually divorced, I assumed sleeping in separate bedrooms had had something to do with it. How could it not? I mean, sharing a bedroom just seemed like something married people do.
Well, I have been married for less than one year and I started thinking seriously about sleeping in separate bedrooms when I awoke with a start in the middle of the night recently because my snoozing husband elbowed me, sharply, right in the forehead. (It might actually have been a move taught in self-defense classes. And if it’s not, it should be.) Keep reading »
Try the test in this video by Richard Wiseman to see if you need to catch up on your catnaps (hint: you probably do). According to Wiseman, an easy way to tell if you’re sleep deprived is if you need the help of an alarm to wake up in the morning. Seriously? I have known maybe two people ever who could wake up for work without an alarm clock! Keep reading »
The latest “smart” product? Your bed. Launched at this year’s Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas, Sleep Number has rolled out a dual-mattress bed that does everything from tracking your sleeping habits to making your partner stop snoring. No need to elbow him or her in aggravation! Read more on Newser …
Do weird things happen to you when you take NyQuil? Because they keep on happening to me and I am so over it. Last night, my boyfriend and I were watching the Ken Burns documentary on the Dust Bowl, helpfully titled “The Dust Bowl” (be glad you were not an Oklahoma farmer in the ’30s), when a cough crept up in my throat. Maybe it was sympathy coughing? There was a lot of coughing in the Dust Bowl documentary. I took some NyQuil to quell the cough, and like clockwork, woke up four hours later at 3 a.m., with wild, stressy, NyQuil-infused insomnia. Thoughts you have when you’re in your conscious, rational, waking life––stuff like “we are all going to die someday”––take on a distorted, desperate, urgent quality at night. We are all going to die someday and I will probably die tomorrow and oh my God who will water the plants?
And that’s just the tip of it. Here are some of the crazier thoughts I had last night, while on a Nyquil insomnia bender…
Keep reading »
This story begins in a basement waiting room in Brooklyn. My boyfriend and I stare at our phones on a dirty looking love seat across from the reception desk. There’s no service, and cellphone games give me headaches, so I pick up an issue of Parenting magazine, even though I am not a parent and — thank god — this isn’t that kind of doctor’s visit. I’m not thirsty, but I drink a lot of water from the water cooler to occupy myself. It takes almost an hour before my name is called. The nurse is friendly, but she mumbles and I keep having to ask her to repeat herself. I am relieved when she asks me how much I weigh rather than making me step on the scale, but the anxiety rises again when she measures my blood pressure. The machine squeezes my arm and then releases it in slow puffs — panic, panic, panic.
Actually, this story begins on Christmas night. And the night before. And the night after. And all of the nights that I went to bed too early. This story begins with me apologizing. This story begins with my mother’s worried face. It begins with an unquenchable, inexplicable desire for sleep, which actually begins nine years ago when I was in 12th grade and became addicted to going to bed. Because that’s what this is really about. That’s the reason I am waiting in a cold doctor’s office, picking nervously at my nail polish, listening to the paper crinkle each time I move, and wanting very badly to pee.
I’m tired. I’m tired all the time. Keep reading »
Advice columns bring out the worst in journalism outlets, I have found, and Nerve.com is no exception. Today, the website asked readers to play “advice columnist” and dish out advice to a woman who had written asking what to do about her boyfriend who raped her while she was sleeping. She had taken a sleeping pill while drunk, after coming home alone, and was so deeply asleep she didn’t even hear her boyfriend come home that night. But when she woke up in the morning, she realized he had raped her during the night. “Did we have sex last night?” she asked him. “Well, one of us did,” the boyfriend said, laughing. The woman then wrote in to Nerve.com saying she no longer trusts him and asks for advice on what to do.
And Nerve, for some reason, chose to title this post, “Please Advice: My Boyfriend Had Sex With Me While I Was Asleep.” Uh, come again? “Had sex” wit hher? FACT: a person who is asleep — not to mention drunk and on a sleeping pill — cannot consent to sex. Her boyfriend didn’t “have sex” with her. Her boyfriend raped her. Keep reading »