If my night life had a narrative, it would be this: I "lack the season of all natures, sleep."
Lady Macbeth offers this diagnosis to Macbeth whose conscience torments him so that he earlier proclaims:
Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast. (Macbeth 2.2.46-51)
I think about these lines from Macbeth often as I lie awake at night, which I did Sunday night. Indeed, Sunday night tends to be the time I most often experience insomnia.
My insomnia has a name, but its causes are as numerous as the herd of sheep prancing through the insomniac's mind:
- Worry--about school, about my children, about trip preparations, about the dogs, about this that and the other.
- Noise--from my husband's snoring, from my husband's C-Pap (sounds like heavy breathing), from the neighbors playing basketball or hosting a party during the summer, from the dogs barking at the air, from Snug's snoring (Snug is our schnauzer.)
- Light--from the moon, from the stars, from the shadows, from the garage and porch lights I left on for my children when they come to visit, from my iPhone when a student in Comm 1101 texts me a question in the middle of the night.
- Chronology--from my advancing years!
- Reading--from reading through the night to finish a book, from thinking about the book I want to read but that I put down so I could sleep.
- Temperature--from too much heat to too much cold. I rarely have a Goldilocks experience.
- Pain--from exercise; from lack of exercise; from back pain, residue from a ruptured disc long ago.
I'm lucky that I don't have any health issues that interfere with catching some shut-eye, and I know that I'll sleep the next night. I also know that come summertime my sleep will normalize.