Pete was having problems sleeping at night. Insomnia ruled as he
tossed and turned, his mind rehashing the day’s troubles. Endless traffic jams.
Pressures in the office. The demands of his boss. The nasty looks and biting
comments of his wife. The unpaid bills, the unfiled tax returns, the threats of
his mother-in-law to visit.
Night after night, Pete couldn’t get the sleep he needed. He rolled
back and forth, thrashing out unintentionally at his wife, interrupting her
dreams and recoiling from her sharp elbowed jabs in his ribs.
She was sympathetic to his predicament, up to a point. “See a doctor,”
she insisted. “He’ll write you a prescription for something.”
“I don’t want to get addicted to sleeping pills!”
Pete was willing to try anything, except for pills. He went for late
night jogs; drank a glass of red wine before bedtime. He avoided his cell phone
and instead read until his eyes were blurry. He listened to meditation tracks,
to whales, to waves hitting the shore. His mind numbed but nothing worked. He
still couldn’t sleep.
In the mornings he rolled out of bed red-eyed and struggled to his
feet. Splitting headaches and aching muscles followed him to the bathroom. A
cold shower did little to cleanse him of the night’s struggles. One cup of
coffee, and then another one. Nothing could refresh him for the demands of the new
day.
“Take care of yourself!” his wife demanded, offering no suggestions
what he should try next.
“Maybe we need a new mattress,” he said.
Read the rest of the story in Meat For Tea - The Valley Review. Volume 17, Issue 3, Page 9.
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