‘Sleep knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care’

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I was once booked off work due to exhaustion – my whole body was so depleted that I was forced to rest in bed for a week. And so I got to contemplating this thing called ‘sleep.’ Don’t google it – you will be inundated with more articles than there are sheep to count!

Ironically I am usually one of those permanently somnolent sisters who can ‘nap’ for two hours every afternoon quite happily, but blow me down, when told to do so (my greatest wish) by someone with an MChB , I just can’t seem to do it.

It’s guilt. Good old Catholic guilt that is stopping me and as soon as I snuggle in deliciously, self-satisfyingly telling myself that Dr Kindheart said I should, my eyes pop open as I panic about the road repairs at school, the looming Umalusi visit, my business plan, payroll, the school’s birthday celebrations, my trip up north… and … there goes my ‘nap.’ Despite the meds she has given me, I am as wide awake as a  raver on E.

And of course it has to be this week that the usually cannot-be-reached or do-things-next-year repair division of our landlord arrives to fix the extractor fan and ‘Oh we’ve like to quote for the house painting you requested two years ago!’

I had no idea how much the toddler next door cries, nor how many barking dogs or bloody pigeons there are in our neighbourhood; nor how many cars drive past our house. And don’t get me started on the motorbikes which snarl by, sans silencers, or the loud teenagers passing by on their way home from school, disturbing my beauty sleep.

And then I begin to worry about my emails: should I put an ‘out of office’ notice on or will that make the school look bad; or me look weak. But hell I feel weak. But I don’t want anyone to know that. Decisions decisions. I keep telling myself to relax and enjoy the legal break and remember why I need to rest.

What is scary is how serious it is if we do not have enough sleep. My husband sent me an article detailing what happens when you stay up late each night as I do. All those nights staying up to finish a report, work on the budget, fight with the payroll program or finish a Powerpoint presentation could be killing me. That ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead’ thing  I say all the time, is all wonky. First of all I didn’t say it first, Bon Jovi did (figures)! But more importantly secondly the shorter your sleep, apparently the shorter your life.

And I like my life, so sleep I must. The article also shocked me about how not sleeping enough can make you obese because it messes with your insulin absorption. That must be it! There I was thinking it was all those choccies I sneak in when I’m the last one awake into the early hours of the night. No – it’s lack of sleep. Never mind killing me; all this work is making me fat – oh my Aldo shoes! We can’t have that!

Image result for cartoon pic of a tired woman trying to sleepSo I dutifully take the meds the doc gave me to force me to catch up sleep, but blow me down it’s had the opposite effect – a bit like a Duracell bunny on Red Bull. I find myself in a constant state of panic, mainly about what I now haven’t done at work.

And the FOMO: It was my school’s birthday week this week (yeah we go big – no birthday for us – plus the release of our super cool music vid which we shot last week- I had great fun boogying on my desk) and I so badly wanted to be there, but I made myself stay at home – mind you a mother never ‘stays’ at home even on sick leave – someone had to go to the shops and juggle the credit cards to buy provisions for the hoards when they return and feed the mutt and moggy.

Not sure why I’m feeding the pets mind you; they seem intent on killing each other and have been banished outside in the rain (it’s drizzle really) – that’ll teach them! Oh hell the washing is still on the line … up I get again … before it gets wet.

Finally, I nod off. then my beloved husband tiptoes in after school, in lead boots, snuggles in with a lovely cup of tea, slurping sweetly as he taps on his cellphone … and … PING …. I’m awake – to the mellow sounds of his soft snores. So much for ‘knitting up the ‘ravell’d sleave of care’ – I never was very good with a pair of needles. Methinks sick leave ‘hath murdered sleep’!

I think I’ll just go to work.

Thoughts on thoughts

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Sometimes I make the mistake of asking my family members what they think I should write about. More than anything else, it gives me a glimpse into their thoughts.

‘Write about me,’ one giddy teenager proclaims, while spilling toothpaste on herself, next to her pyjama clad twin, who at least suggested the more mature topic of the crisis in higher education. That tricky topic was echoed by an older sibling who maintained I should consider the debate around decolonisation of universities.

‘Explore why one moment they (our offspring) are watching Barney and Noddy and the next they have rejected their childhood,’ said Andrew, ever conscious of the aging process in others, ‘or sadistic teenagers’ (corrected by one to ‘edgy’ teen) without taking his eyes off FIFA ’16, handed down by Michael who is now on to FIFA ’17.

I won’t ask him, the footballer, I thought, because he will either suggest how they have not yet solved the FIFA cheating glitch with the new version, or something like the vagaries of the English Football transfer window. And the only thing I know about that particularly confusing aperture is that it is now closed.

Sean believes I should review a book and I just might dissect one of the Jeffrey Eugenides novels I have recently finished (if you haven’t discovered this writer and need a chuckle, while coming to grips with deep stuff, he’s your man – Jeffrey, not Sean). Sean’s first suggestion was a self-conscious exploration on the writing of a blog, but, as you can see, I’m way ahead of him.

Liam is MIA tonight, but he told me to stop writing or I would be late for mass (such a good boy! I can say that because he is at the Marais’ house annoying them). Mika on the other hand hummed and hawed and suggested ‘cooking.’ Mwahahaha. But I could mention that Lizzy is now baking banana loaf which smells sublime.

I eventually broke down and asked Michael who merely said ‘I don’t know’ – I hope that is not what he is thinking, but I do have a fair idea now about what each of my other beloved relatives is contemplating. Which begs the question: What am I thinking about and why do I not have a topic of conversation at hand?

The answer is a trifle sad, I must confess: other than worrying about my school’s upcoming Umalusi desktop submission and my own inertia in beginning some of the policy writing I need to do, and wondering whether eight o’clock is too early to go to bed and read my book in the school holidays, I’m not really having any deep insights on life or personal epiphanies. Teasing out the semiotics of such thoughts, what I have realised is that my whole focus generally is on the needs and interests of my family (which is good but can be a bit Betty Crockerish) and my school (Yes, important during term-time); yet I have not cultivated any actual hobbies of my own which often has me getting caught in the middle of trying to please everyone and ignoring my own self.

So, to my horror, on a Sunday night I am having to admit that I am suffering from housewife’s angst. It’s disturbing to admit that even executive women can subjugate their ‘self’ to the vagaries of external views (even though in this case, to be fair, I actually asked the family what I should be sharing in my blog). But I think we women, all too often fall prey to a subversion of self which we mistake as Christian kindness, but often erases ourselves and our own interests or needs, as we try to please everyone.

No more of that. (Even though from time to time – I must remain a bit of a martyr in order to use that against the progeny) I shall employ  a new philosophy which I cannot politely name (it rhymes with ‘bucket’). I shall indulge my own thoughts and share my own ideas.

After that I shall ask my family what they think about my blog.