FOUR YEARS AGO I got Covid for the first time. It was awful. I have blocked most of it out.
The other day I saw a Facebook memory of the sun rising in Quincy. It was taken four years ago, the day after I got Covid, from the roof of our Second String Music building at Fifth and Maine. I must have climbed the stairs and found solace in the sunrise - I wasn't sleeping and I was ticked off in general about Covid and the world.
Sleeping well has always been an issue. Not falling asleep, but staying asleep. So I get it as much as I can when I can.
Three examples about going to sleep come to mind. A few weeks ago, the World Series was on. It was the fifth game. The Dodgers were about to win. It was about the eighth inning. But I was ready for bed. And I couldn't have cared less. In younger years I would have stayed up just to see what happened. Not this time.
ZZZZZZZZ.
Then it was election night. I attempted to stomach TV coverage but gave up after 10 minutes. The results wouldn't change if I stayed up or went to bed - and going to bed was way more important. It's going to be a long four years, but you know what? I'll still go to bed and try to get sleep. We'll get through it, one way or the other.
Then, finally, the most crushing and crucial sleep story - last Sunday night, the Detroit Lions played the Houston, whatevers. Oilers? Texans? I watched the first half at a friend's house and it didn't look good for the Lions. So I went home, watched the third quarter .... and fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up the game was over. I was exhausted from a rock and roll weekend, so I simply got up, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.
The next morning, I couldn't believe it. These are not the same old Lions. They kicked two long field goals in the last five minutes and won.
Coco, my cat, is a huge Lions fan. In fact, Coco thinks she's a Lion. She wasn't happy I fell asleep and missed the end of the game. "You call yourself a Lions fan?" she said, giving me an angry glare.
I asked her why she didn't wake me up. "Because I was sleeping," she said. "But that's what cats do. You have NO excuse."
True. But I refuse to feel guilty about it.
Next week, I turn 60. This is scaring the living crap out of me. What? SIXTY? And the thing is ... I'm wondering how I'm going to stay awake for the festivities, whatever they end up being.
Actually, I'm going to make an effort to say up that night. And maybe the night before. But definitely not the night after.
I'll still be 60 the next day, sleep or no sleep.
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