Why I Can't Fall Asleep

My husband and I have different sleep schedules. Since he gets up at 4 am, he goes to bed around 9, unless he stays up to spend time with me. I'm more like a ten or 11 o'clock-er  since I don't have to get up around 6 or so. I push the snooze button, but try not to, since the alarm rings at nine minute increments, which plays serious havoc with the OCD part of my brain, since nine is not a multiple of four (in this universe or any parallel universe). I've heard scientists speak about the possible existence of parallel universes where our alternate life choices live out their consequences. Apparently, the laws of nature, including mathematics, in theory, remain the same. I can always hope that every number is a multiple of four in a parallel universe. It gives me some comfort, but...I digress. Back to sleep schedule.

I try my best to be quiet and still when I turn in if my husband is already asleep, but invariably that OCD part of my brain relaxes at a different pace than my physical body, even on some pretty strong medication. Here's a snapshot of my brain around 10:30.

• My hip hurts.
• The water is dripping.
• My sleep pants are bunched up around my knees.
• My covers are wrinkled and I feel sand in them.
• My lips are chapped.
• My nose is running.
• The streetlight is shining in the window and the blinds are open.
• I forgot to take my meds.
• I think I left the lights on in the car and the battery will be dead when I try to start it tomorrow. 
• The faucet is dripping.
• I forgot to turn in some papers at work.
• My daughter's not home yet.
• I think I left the coffee pot on.
• Congress is sequestered and now I won't get a raise. 
• My foot itches.
• North Korea is going to launch a nuclear weapon.
• I hate the way George Bush says nucular.
• My foot itches.
• The dog's toenails are scraping his cage.
• Doug is snoring....again.
• Doug has taken my covers...again
• My back itches.
• My heart is racing.
• My hands are dry.
• I have to pee.
• I have a headache and the ibuprofen and ice pack are in the kitchen.
• I'm cold.
• I'm hot now.
• I think today was my mom's birthday. 
• My closet door is open.
• I can't breathe.
• I have to blow my nose.

Thankfully, thirty minutes later, after I've tossed and turned and gotten up and down at least four times, my husband will say ever so kindly, "Are you done?"

"Yes." 

Then we settle in. What a saint he is. I talk about him so much at work, that's become his nickname. 

"How's the saint today?" my co-workers ask me. 

"Fine." 

It wasn't always like this, but someone told me some time ago your marriage is only as good as you say it is. So I say it all the time and now I can't say it enough.