Hoping that Sleep is Overrated

I think I am beginning to understand why Professor Three said Sleep would be the commodity I would have to forego on my Journey to Dissertation. She told me this when I lamented that I have been having trouble finding large periods of time to spend in my research and subsequent writing.

She empathized with me, of course, because after all, Professor Three is not only actively teaching full time, she also is writing yet another book, is juggling umpteen lecturing engagements, and perhaps was even preparing for another summertime archeological dig at the time of our email exchange last spring. (This Professor Three is brilliant and multi-talented, did I mention that previously?) The point is, her response to my whining was that she "sleeps very little."

That didn't help.

It isn’t that I don’t want to give up Sleep in the short term so that I can achieve a longterm goal. Sleep is a good thing and through the years I have come to welcome it even when my eyelids have fought me so that I could continue watching the latest episode of The Sopranos or whatever my guilty TV pleasure of the moment may have been.

Sleep is becoming my nemesis. Like Lex Luther is to Superman. My tormenter, even. That might be the better word for it because any time that I begin to think I will be able to indulge in a full seven or eight hours of the blessed inactivity, The Brain tells me to fuggeddaboudit.

So maybe it is that Sleep and The Brain are in cohoots. Because they apparently are working together to keep me from getting too comfortable with the whole “rest” component of my life that is supposed to occur roughly between the hours of 10 p.m. and 5 a.m. on a daily basis (Give or take a random South Park episode. Hey, it can’t all be about intellectual stimulation. Sometimes we have to laugh at ridiculous, even crass, humor).

I have a theory. I think when a person is exploring a passion of theirs, or perhaps is just enjoying their creative pursuits (you pick), The Brain seeks the opportunity to continue that discussion of the imagination when you are deliberately trying to put it on a shelf. It lies in wait, letting you think you are winding down and packing it in for the evening. The Brain even lets you collaborate with his buddy, Sleep, and says, “OK, you two, get a room. I’m outta here.”

Then it lets you drift off. It lets you settle into a fairly solid state of silent, lovely non-motion of thought and body. Without warning, The Brain then will fire its first salvo: a salient point related to what you were contemplating earlier. Perhaps, it will be an exceptionally brilliant tidbit of an idea for a new piece of writing - a screenplay you are dabbling with, or that novel that is burning a hole in your frontal lobe to finish.

Whatever it is, it will be such a compelling, NECESSARY bit of information, that you will have to sit up, grab the nearest pencil and scrap of paper from the night table next to your bed, and deliberately scratch out the concept as specifically as possible because in your foggy state, your handwriting will be atrocious and you will need every detail to recall this fantastic NECESSARY item in the morning when you are actually awake. The salvos can even turn into a full-out assault wherein you will dutifully take the required sleepynote, return to your fetal position and begin to drift again when the next creative grenade explodes.

Sometimes The Brain doesn’t even let you get that far. Sometimes, The Brain will keep poking at you even when the rest of you is screaming, “Go to bed! Go to bed! Just PUH-LEEEEZE GO TO BED!” (Kindof like in the Dr. Suess story with the Who’s that Horton hears... “We are here, we are HERE, WE ARE HERE!” Like that.)

It’s happening to me right now. I want to retire for the night - I mean, it is well past midnight and the alarm clock will be applying electroshock therapy to my heart at approximately 4:45 a.m., and again at 4:50 a.m., and so on, thanks to the snooze alarm on my husband’s side of the bed.

Tonight, I cannot yet shut down The Brain. This is because I have made real progress in my proposal writing. Dare I say it? It may be a bit premature, but I think I have cleared enough of the cobwebs to have set down a new path for my research question. Heck, I’ll put it out there that, yes, I am confident that I have percolated long enough in Derailment Town and am ready to pull out and venture on to Proposal City.

To prove it, I’ll share with you the working title of my dissertation. I have written much more than just the title, of course, but I don’t want to appear overconfident.

The Evolution of the Grief Memoir: How New Communication Technologies are Changing the Way We Grieve and Share.

Shoot. Have I just put all of YOU to sleep?