Sleep

Monday morning I was dragging butt as I had slept terribly Sunday night. Recovering from little sleep is much harder in the forties than the thirties.

Tuesday was even worse as Monday night football out with the guys meant my head did not hit my pillow until around two in the morning.

Tuesday night, I dreamt I overslept shortly after falling asleep. I couldn't get back to sleep until two again.

Rising four hours later, my Wednesday was a climb uphill just to breach the top of the hump at noon.

Exhausted, I counted sheep until early Thursday morning as my brain would just not shut off.

Thursday, I slept fitfully at my desk. My head snapping backwards as soon as I would drift off in a pleasant slumber.

Friday. Oh dear, Friday. I am glad you are finally here. Tonight, I have a date with my best girl.

She is a 26 foot sailboat. She cradles me in my berth, comforting as a womb. The breeze coming through hatch overhead is like sleeping outside. The sound of the waves lapping against the hull, the whistling lines and soft clanging is soothing to my soul. A stiff breeze pushes her around in the boat slip, taking her to the end of her lines and back, rocking me gentle from side to side. Finally, I sleep.

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