The English Maximalista

Miracles DO happen! I woke up this morning at 8:10, which is approximately 90 minutes later than when I usually wake up.

Yesterday (Tuesday) was St. Patrick’s Day, so I stayed up super-duper late (10pm) and did something I seldom do on a weeknight (had a beer). This is what I consider to be living on the edge, now that I’m in my fifties.

The aforementioned miracle was that I inexplicably managed to sleep for an entire TEN delicious hours!!

Sadly, these days I need all the help I can get with my sleep. It’s an age thing.

Mr Maximalista never has a problem sleeping. He has his CPAP [Continuous Positive Airway Pressure] machine, cream for his duff knee, and keeps the ceiling fan spinning all night to cool off all of his 6’4” hairy bod. 

As for myself? Well, I am a veritable Goldilocks: my sleeping conditions need to be JUUUST right. Room temperature of 63.5 degrees. Freshly brushed teeth. No odors. Silence. Darkness.

Additionally, I need my mouth guard (because I grind my teeth), an eye mask (preferably the cashmere one), thick down pillows fluffed just right (and swathed in high-thread count cotton), my satin hair bonnet (to avoid breakages to my Barnet), matching pajamas (because I simply cannot sleep if I’m not colour-coordinating), and some melatonin.

Most important of all, though, are my foam ear plug thingies which are imperatively necessary to drown out Sadie’s snoring.

That dog can saw some logs.

Studies show that sleeping with animals is the best way to a poor nights sleep. And it just so happens to turn out that Sadie doesn’t give a flying you know what about how well Mummy and Daddy are sleeping.

*****

Falling to sleep isn’t too difficult for me at first. The hardest part of falling to sleep is when I wake up at 1am, with a wide-awake brain, even while the rest of me is exhausted.

It’s especially irritating when I have been exerting myself physically — gardening or with, say, spending ten hours hefting things around in my garage — and desperately need to get a full 8 hours.

Some people count sheep, but for me, when all else fails, I generally start counting backwards in French. Cos ain’t nothing so boring as trying to remember what comes before quatre-vingt-dix-huit, quatre-vingt-dix-sept, quatre-vingt-seizzzz. Usually does the trick.

Unfortunately, I now have the menopause to contend with. Usually, I’m snuggled under the duvet wearing my sexy flannel pajamas because our bedroom is freezing (reference above); next thing I know, I’m burning up like Satan’s arse, and an accursed menopausal hot flash is waking me up.

Within fifteen minutes of that passing, though, I am shivering again, fighting with a slumbering Sadie over the covers so I can pull the duvet up to my chin. And thus the cycle continues. It’s not exactly fun.

Monsoon season is approaching, here, too. (Yes, I swear that really is a thing up here in the High Desert!) This past week or so, Colorado has been suffering through extreme high winds, a further disrupter of my sleep when the house is rattling its gills.

But that will soon be over. Before we know it, Mr M will be opening the windows at night, and I shall be complaining about the sound of the coyotes waking me up with their howling.

Lots of love,

M xo