I want to sleep hours and hours. I want to fall into bed and dream of kittens and rainbows. I want to relax into slumber.
But alas, no. This week has again been a stretch to get my full 8 hours. Chewie has to go out often, at times in the middle of the night, and if he's having a bad night, we stay downstairs where I toss and turn on the futon. So my sleep is off. I was groggy yesterday and a little grumpy, but being at work and in court revitalized me until I crashed in the middle of the afternoon.
I think I used to take sleep for granted. Then came menopause and I would sweat all night. Now post menopause, I shiver all night and toss and turn.
People don't tell you when you're young, how blissful it is. Nothing hurts. No back pain. You can eat whatever you want. No stomach or restroom complaints. Sleeping is easy.
Now, at the ripe age of 52, I would give (almost) anything for a few great weeks of sleep. But yet, to have my little fur monster Chewbacca still next to me, at times annoying the hell out of me, is something I'm estatic about, sleep or no sleep.
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