Immediately upon waking in the morning (or through the night if I wake up at all), the very SECOND my brain has a lucid thought, I get hot. I sleep comfortably all night long, snuggly under the covers with a whole other warm body next to me and I’m fine. BUT. The first GLIMMER of a thought occurs and I can feel the heat actually FLASH into my neck and then up and down through my whole being. I have to throw all the covers off (angrily, usually), take a drink of water, flip my pillow, put my extremities in new, cooler places (if my hand rests where it once was, all cooling efforts are thwarted and I get even madder and hotter) kick away any wandering, touching-me toes, hands or elbows, and wait the LOOOONG two minutes in my mandatory and nonnegotiable 68 degree room until I normalize. THEN.. I freeze like any normal person would, cover back up and do it all over again.
It’s my new morning dance.
Wake
think (why in the heck do dogs need collars with tags that jingle, anyway)
BURN
throw the covers off and readjust all the things
wait
FREEZE
snuggle back under the covers and drift of for 5 minutes- 5 hours
wake
think (someday I really AM going to hammer into a million pieces, my husband’s razor that buzzes and buzzes and then we die)
BURN!
throw off the covers
and on and on it goes until I finally decide to give in and get up.
Even if I wake naturally and am not annoyed which is 95% of the time. Even if life is downright IDEAL, y’all, like my second wake-up of the day today when my Grey-baby and both puppies were snuggled up with me and outside was MY FAVORITE SOUND EVER (thunder, of course), as soon as I considered that perfect scene for a hundredth of a second….. BBBBUUUURRRRRNNNNNN!!!!!!!
I don’t think anything could make it better, either. Sleep with a sheet only? Sleep freezer adjacent? Hormones? No for now, I think, because enough yuck goes into my body without adding more. I’m in the best company, too. Beyond the magical privilege that is having babies, women have been burning since Eve. I figure if this is the worst part of 46 (other than my babies leaving me), I’m cool.
These are the things I tell myself, anyway.
As I burn, baby, burn.
Recent Comments