The Night Shift

It’s 4:19 a.m. and I have completely given up on that elusive state-of-being once known as sleep. A number of factors are involved, but let me just say up front, never eat a piece of cheesecake right before going to bed. Jack and I have become much like the walking people pods of the night. Complete opposites: I’m the night owl; he’s the early-to-bed, early-to-rise guy, we sometimes wake up in rooms other than the ones in which we first attempted to slumber. A prodigious dreamer—it’s the only thing I’m prodigious at—I can sometimes return to R.E.M. by thinking about the dream I was having and going back in for the next chapter, but not tonight, mainly because of the cheesecake and the havoc it’s wreaking on my esophagus.

Many years ago, we purchased a pug puppy for my son’s ninth birthday gift. As we all rode home with the adorable little guy, Jack (who had never owned a small dog) began a recitation of we-will-nots. (Jack strives to take the edge off of anything resembling glee.) “We will not feed this dog scraps from the table; we will not put this dog in the bed with any human being!” and so on. You think I digress, but there is a point here. As soon as the little wriggly, pudgy pup that we aptly named Moses, made one pitiful peep from his basket, the Rulemeister sprang from the bed, picked him up and threw him out the door . . . just kidding. Jack picked him up, “What’s the matter little guy; yes him is lonely; yes him wants to sleep with his mommy and daddy.” Hence, the pug became the Rulemeister. We are today merely his malleable human sofas. He instructs us whether to sleep on our right sides or our left sides, depending on his preference, several times a night. On some occasions, he allows us to move our legs, but this is rare. In all positions, he snores and he snores loudly. He’s doing so now, in my bed. He is one of the non-sleep factors.

The old yeller lab, Max, is another. No longer able to make the leap onto my bed when Jack is out of town, he sleeps on a mass of cushions and blankets worthy of the Princess and the Pea. However, he tends to bark and run in his sleep, often crashing his feet against the wall or the bed table. At first, I thought we were having an earthquake, but now I just try to wait it out. When I arose tonight, Max hauled himself up for a nature call. As I stood waiting for him to return, I chewed on a few Tums. Then he came back and drank water for about three days. I turned down the air conditioner another notch but it didn’t click on. Back in bed, I realized that damn it Jack had my skinny pillow! I turn to the left to comply with Moses’ instructions. “What’s going on?” Jack asks. “A little bit of everything,” I answer. Most of the time, we try not to speak because it will bring us into another state of awareness called “Now I’m more awake!”

As I relax like a deer in the headlights, Jack gets up and walks toward the door. I know he’s checking the air conditioner. “Are you hot or are you cold?” I ask. “Hot,” he replies. He turns the air down a bit more and gets back in bed. “Do you have my pillow?” I ask. We switch pillows. It doesn’t do the trick. That’s it! I’m outta here. I’m sitting at the kitchen counter typing. Jack comes wandering in? “What are you doing?” he asks. “What are you doing?” I respond wittily. “Moses is driving me crazy,” he says as he pours some milk. I start chatting. Moses runs in from the bedroom. As I am mid-sentence, Jack heads toward the bedroom stating, “Stop talking! You’re making me more awake!” I pick Moses up: “Him is the cutest little puggy in the world. Him is mommy’s little Moses.”