[Clearly, I meant to post this Sunday.]
I still somewhat disbelieve that I'm 50. I know I am, but it's not quite in the realm of the possible. Except, apparently, I am so old that I need a machine to help me breathe when I sleep.
So I now have this machine. I hate it with a pure and passionate hatred. You see, it's supposed to make me feel better. The morning after I first used this machine I was supposed to wake up skipping and jumping, my life transformed by the first good sleep I'd had in years. Except that didn't happen. Instead I felt oppressed all night and woke up many times, battered by the machine. Thus my nights have continued.
Now I start the machine, read for a while, fall asleep, wake up, DO NOT ALLOW MYSELF TO TEAR OFF THE MASK, fall asleep, wake up, rinse repeat until I can't stand it anymore and tear off the mask so I can sleep.
Maybe, someday, I'll get used to it. (HA!) In the meantime, the machine and I have a running battle, and I'm having more broken nights than I ever did (apparently, before the machine, I used to wake up multiple times a night, but I never noticed and I wasn't tired in the morning and now I am).
Though I did get one piece of helpful advice from my sleep doctor--now I take melatonin two hours before I should do to bed and I actually do! I get sleepy at a reasonable hour. Like magic.
Now if only I could sleep through a night.
Breeeeaaaaaaathing...breathing the fallout in out in out in out in...
Up with melatonin! Down with the sleep machine!
For a repeat of this yakyak, plus my recent listening, reading, and writing news, see Les Semaines.