Sleepless In...

Not to steal the title of a Meg Ryan film or anything but between my cat and the dog upstairs whose barking has escalated to early-morning as in 4 AM howling, sleep is not something I'm doing regularly. The whole sleep thing was iffy in the first place given the hot flashes and night sweats women at a certain point in life must face. Since I'm not inclined to used potentially cancer-causing creams and my doctor doesn't do the bio-identical plant-based hormone thing, the quest for a new doctor has taken a backseat to three weeks of upper respiratory hell, chest congestion and bronchitis, all of which are now on the wane. No sleep, no function, and every little thing becomes a chore. I'm proud the cat and I get fed regularly and that I can get the garbage out, shower and consume something as basic as soup.

The cat eventually calms and sleeps, enjoys his tummy rubs and playtime. As for the dog, I've no clue and her owner doesn't seem to notice or care. I do know that dogs can be trained not to bark and that there are techniques for dealing with upset canines but such knowledge appears lost on this owner who besides leaving a trail of butts in her wake is very loud on the phone outside (my windows and doors closed) and has attempted to blame others for her smoke wafting through my vents. I guess I should be happy she hasn't burned the place down and now smokes with doors open. I keep our interactions to a minimum. She moved here at the request of her employer who owns the apartment so leaving isn't likely unless she gets fired.

Add to this the increasing cacophony from the now eight-lane road in front of our entrances and single-pain 1970's vintage windows, and there is just simply too much noise sometimes.

To fill my wakefulness, I read or watch films, the most recent being The Hundred-Foot Journey with Helen Mirren. It took three days because I could only handle short bursts. No reflection on the film or its cast, simply my short-circuiting brain.

If anyone has a nice island or a cave for rent, I'll consider it. Lack of sleep can make you fat, keep you sick or kill you...

Here's hoping for some sustained sleep.

Sunday...

After being overcast and rainy on Saturday, we were rewarded with sunshine and clear skies. It has warmed to the point that heat in the late hours, which I had been using to take off the chill that comes with old windows and poor insulation, is no longer necessary. I found a couple of old hot water bottles and those do a good job of warming the bed. My cat enjoys the extra bit of heat as well it seems. He is holding his own and loves the extra attention from me.

My cough persists though it appears to be improving slowly. Warm ginger tea with honey seems to help and yes, stuff is still coming up. Apart from that, I read when I cannot sleep and have three books : That Can't Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis, Quiet by Susan Cain and a study of housing and eviction by Andrew Desmond called Evicted.

Though originally published in the mid-thirties, Lewis could easily be writing about today.    Evicted is an ethnographic study of poverty, eviction and housing instability and the impact of those on families and community. Cain's book contains a lot of timely and well documented information on both introverts and extroverts which I as one of the latter, appreciate. All the not-so-good-natured remarks I received as a kid about needing to be more sociable? Crap. Introverts have our own strengths and this is a book I wish more parents and teachers would read.

Apart from these bibliographic adventures, I managed to find a childhood acquaintance on Social Media and look forward to chatting her up about the Lewis book when I'm done with it. I've got to do laundry and catch up on food preparation as well as organizing a check up for Jacob.

 I've been writing a bit offline and find myself stymied about conveying the feelings I had as a six-year-old around some of my early school experiences. At that point in my life, and yes, I do have some recollections, I was in a self-contained Special Education room with mostly teen-age boys on an Army base during the Vietnam war. One of my classmates who was about twelve or thirteen lost an older brother, at that time a recent graduate of West Point, in Vietnam and over my lifetime, I've periodically found myself dreaming about the younger boy who for a time would awaken from our rest period crying or lost in nightmares. I do not know why this springs to mind but it somehow left an impression on me.

Hopefully, I'll spend a bit more time outdoors this week. Cheers!