Symptoms of sleep deprivation: Runaway “feelz”

Rockin a serious case of 25/8 PMS?

Losing friends? ‘roiding out? Got folks blow darting you from afar with tranquilizers?

It might be a sign you’re just burning the candle at both ends.

(And then upgrading from a candle to a blowtorch. Which you use to decimate all’a your relationships.)

If you find yourself having to say “I’m sorry” a lot, getting stood-up, or just generally defriended by your former acquaintances en masse, it could be due to sleep deprivation induced derpiness. (Unless you’re the one who broadcasted online about your support for Donald Trump. ‘cause then you’ve got bigger probs. And, yes, I was among the companion culling). Indeed, if you’re losing heaps of pals outta nowhere cuzza your emo antics, the problem might be you. But don’t take that personally. It’s just you under the influence. See, you’ve OD’d on wakefulness. Wait till you’re sane again, and mend fences, if you like.

“Whyyy did I click ‘post’…?!”

One way this presents itself is via an admittedly, shamefully, facepalmingly problematic one for me, personally. I mean, normally, this shiz right here (points with keychain laser to chest cavity), is all Fort keep-Knoxxin-but-ya-can’t-come in. When I’m accruing snooze debt, though, is when I’m more likely to blow up – and emotionally mow down whatever poor unfortunate soul’s wandered into my radius. These are not my most noble moments. I’ve never regretted any hungover walk of shame as much as I do a sober first-world-problems-cry caused by sleepless psychosis.

Does it mean I’m mentally ill? No. (We’ve already confirmed that my mental illness in independent of sleep.) However, as the pros have shown, losing out on snoozing can indeed be the gasoline to any disorder-fire you’ve got flaming away in your brain. Depressive or not.

Which can be dangerous if it’s less about the blues and more about the mean reds. ‘cause, other times, the lack of nap-age can lead to emotional constipation. Or, as the sciencey folk put it: when exhaustion leads to non-empathy, burnout, and depression level escalation. In fact, a study done with kids who underslept demonstrated that the tendency to act a fool in school went up by about 25% compared to the calm ‘n rested tiny test subjects who were well behaved.

And, if you’re just a large child-woman (like the author whose work you’re reading), it’s not much better.

‘cause being a Rage-osaurus Rex is my genetic specialty. But add in a glass of grogginess, and you’ve got yourself some grade A crazy fuel. But this doesn’t surprise the experts over at Northwestern in Chicago. “The main thing is you’re less inhibited,” confirms Kelly Baron, PhD, an assistant professor of neurology. Which means it doesn’t take much for me to go from zero to psycho in point nada yesterseconds. (A generous underestimate.) This is particularly frustrating, ‘cause I’ve tried my hardest to cultivate and maintain a set of zen mental tools. But even the attempted-best of us fall prey to fatigue. I’m no exception – I’m the rule. Test me when I’ve got less than seven hours under my brain’s belt, and you’d better come equipped a Thorazine loaded needle.

So, if all’a this sounds terribly familiar, don’t surrender to the straitjacket just yet.

The fix might be as simple as this five point plan:

1.) Set an alarm for when you need to wake up tomorrow.
2.) Count back seven hours.
3.) Set another alarm for then, too.
4.) When it goes off, go to bed.
5.) Wash, rinse, repeat x forever.

(You’re welcome in advance.)

Symptoms of sleep deprivation: icky skin

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Gotta bit of a grey pallor this morning?

Yes, some days I’ll wake up to a particularly dismal looking dermis myself.

It’s tough to describe – but something’s just off about it. Like one of the post mortem Death Becomes Her chicks who skipped their latest spray job to conceal their decaying faces. This might sound familiar. You wonder if you’re coming down with the flu. If you need a new supplement. If you’re dying from the inside out (my personal favorite and first go-to everytime). And then, obviously, you rush to the Clinique counter for an overpriced lotion that’ll reverse these signs of early onset body rot. But, much like every other symptom in this series, often the answer’s just that I need to spend a few more hours recharging in the evenings.

And here’s why:

All the cells in your body are constantly having to undergo repair and replacement. That’s good and all – but the thing is, the whole process has to happen whenever you shutter your eye blinds for the night. Once you’re zonked, your somatic building blocks get to work. The skin takes advantage of that down time to repair any cells that might be damaged. Which means… rest too little and that process gets hindered significantly. In fact, this one study done in 2013 at University Hospitals Case Medical Center in Ohio (Saint Jesus, that’s a mouthful) demonstrated something interesting about skin recovery. And that’s that folk who made a quality slumber a priority realized a 30% higher integumentary recovery rate. (That’s just a fancy word for “skin”, btw.) And why? Because, as Debra Jaliman, MD, and dermatologist, says: “A lack of sleep upsets your hormonal balance and elevates circulating estrogen levels.” Which we can all agree is never a good thing. Those’ve us who are chicks all know (from our involuntary adventure into insanity every four weeks) that when hormones are oscillating, shiz hits the fan. And your skin looks like it got lathered in the resultant spray.

But we’re all about fixes here.

And since sleep’s a cumulative thing – it might take a bit to rejoov that fleshy, elastic wrap covering the brilliant gift that is you. Which means that, in the meantime, Dr. Ashley has a few prescriptions of her own for you. The first? Copious amounts of water throughout the day (as well as one liter before bed – and one upon waking – which should be seven hours after you were last awake). Also, I’d suggest Yogi tea’s “healthy skin” and “skin detox”. Especially if you’re a toxic cocktail goblin. And, finally, wash off that fkkn foundation before you head to bed. Keeping that shiz on round the clock is like turning your dermis into a nursery for staphylococcus and tucking it in with oil n’ grime each night. It just incubates in your shut pores until morning. Which is when you wake to realize you’ve got a grubby slumber induced lumberjack style beard of zits. It wasn’t cute when you were fifteen. It’s definitely not cute when you’ve got pre-wrinkles forming in the corners of your face. And, indeed, excess wrinkles are a thing you can also look forward to if you’re not snoozing sufficiently. Why? Because our anti-wrinkle properties are concocted while we’re in a state of subconsciousness. In fact, per that same dermatologist who warned us about hormone levels, burning the candle at both ends can really age you: “If done for long periods, you will see that you have excess wrinkling probably from a decrease in collagen. The body produces it while you’re sleeping.”

Which is why all my advice is just a collective yes-and to resting better.

But the point is there’s a cheaper (see: free) solution than a pricey ablution routine.

Try packing in more pillow time for just one week – and see if you don’t look a li’l glowier come next Monday.

Symptoms of sleep deprivation: memory and mind

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It seems obvious.

You’d know if you were running low on shut-eye, right?

You’d either be narcoleptic level tired (like the time your car’s hood accordioned into that one fire hydrant that totally jaywalked into the street)… or you wouldn’t. No in between, right? Eh… not necessarily. Thing about sleep deprivation is that it can kinda build up. A few too many nights of less-than-seven-hours-ness, and you might find yourself functional – but not optimally so. Sound familiar? Are you suddenly slightly less Superman than you’re used to being? Then see if some of these symptoms also sound familiar. If so, then your kryptonite might just be a sum of slumber hours ain’t enough. Over the next several articles, we’ll cover some common symptoms telling you that you need to power off earlier and not reboot till the rooster you don’t have ‘cause you live in suburbia crows. Thus, let’s start with memory and mind and how vulnerable they both are after too few hours on the pillow. Beginning with a brief, personal anecdote:

So… I shut the door on my luke warm tea and immediately search for the “reheat” button.

The only problem is that I can’t find it.

Because wooden cupboards don’t warm your food for you.

These facepalmy little lapses in memory are sometimes terribly frightening. Especially if they happen more than once within a ~~day~~ ~~week~~ month. Sometimes it helps to consult with companions – and learn they’ve had some similar thought-diarrhea moments themselves. But what could be causing it? Hypochondriac that I am, of course my first assumption it always that I have some neurological disorder you only ever hear about on that one “Strange Diagnoses” T.V. show. And that I am obviously going to die within the week. As I set out to start my living will, I wondered – might there be another reason? After some research, I learned, that yes, the truth’s usually a bit kinder. And that’s that I’m likely just lacking on enough sleep. But I don’t wanna admit that’s the problem. Because: cognitive dissonance.

“It’s simple; we kill the bad habit.”

But what’s sleep got to do with remembering stuff, you ask?

An excellent question, my friend. Lemme ‘splain.

You see, in order to recall anything – from what you ate for breakfast to the number pi to the quadrillizonth decimal place – you need some essential connections betwixt your nerve cells. For emotional memories specifically, we rely on that part of sleep called REM to aid in both the creating and keeping of said memories. This, I suppose, is why everyone told me to just go to sleep instead of crashing for my most recent exam. You’ll often hear the cliché: “If you don’t know it now, you never will.” Firstly, that’s not true (seeing as I’ve squeezed in some helpful factoids in those precious last five pre-physics test minutes more often than not). And even if it were, it wouldn’t be applicable here. A better cautionary catchphrase would be “you won’t remember anything – whether you learned it five days or seconds ago – sans a soundly synapsing noggin.”

And, as we’ve just learned, bedtime’s where recall gets procured.

Think of it as a time when the seams of your recollection get their stitches reinforced. (After all the wear and tear you do on it while awake). A good rapid eye movement sesh’s even got a cadence similar to a darting Singer needle – as if it’s reinforcing the edges so your memory catalog and cognition don’t go leaking on out by tomorrow when you’re trying to unlock your front door with the button of your car remote. (#truestory)

(Or doing this.)

Similarly, if you’re getting whiplash over every metaphorical squirrel popping up in your peripheral vision, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve got ADHD. Like memory – focus, attention, and general straight-thinkery go out the window when your rest reserves are running low. Just ask my coworker who calls me “5:30 Scarecrow” (that’s the time my rebellious brain starts giving up after waking up at 4 A.M., running, writing, and then trying to work on my feet till 7:30 at night.) My body, will, and heart are still in the game come evening – but my brain just kinda clocks out and fkks off soon after five. The fix? Getting to sleep by nine sharp, obv. Ironically, by then, my brain’s on board for sleep. But my body, will, and heart all want their entertainment reward for behaving so well all day. Once I get these errant bastards all in alignment, I’ll be unstoppably focused with a Sheldon Cooper level memory.

Till then, before you or I start calling up our neurologists or prematurely putting ourselves in the local retirement home on account of early onset Alzheimer’s, we should probably ask ourselves this: have I been getting in the suggested seven each night? Or have I been faithfully playing that one trivia game while basking supine in the blue light of my phone until it anvils me in the face?

Which is it?

Can’t remember?

I think that’s your answer, my dear.

Next sleeplessness symptom: Bad skin

7 ways chi tweaking could solve your snooze issues…

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After a night’s sleep like last’s, bishes be getting desperate.

And when we don’t wanna reach for the booze or Rx bottle, we consult more esoteric sources for answers. Just to see what they have to offer. Just in case mysticism might be the missing link from my nocturnal routine. And what’s today’s spotlight on? Feng shui. Yep, while I’ve not yet resorted to spell casting – I have wondered about chi energy. It’s the flow I apparently care about when it comes to my living room – but less so in my ground zero reminiscent slumber quarters. Could this carelessness be contributing to my fitful rests? Is my energy getting fettered by my furniture placement?

Probably, say the afi-chi-onados.

Because, according to my browsings, I’m failing at at least several bedchamber suggestions.

Look ‘em over for yourself… You may just notice you are too:

1. Bed posiche

A no no? Having your bed’s foot directly lined up with the door. They’ve got a special name for this, in fact, called “death” position – ‘cause apparently your entry way turns into a hell portal the second you go sub-conscious and your chi gets sucked right on out the door. Mine’s kinda at an angle, so I guess my chi’s just flowing into my walk in closet. (Whose floor’s littered with dirty laundry. Which explains my life.)

2. Ya need to fenging clean your shui up

That last factor I shamefully admitted – my messiness – is another big chi eater. It’s suggested that keeping clutter around – be it shiz you need to pitch altogether, or just clothes missing their home on the rung above – is no bueno for your sleep flow. Clean up. Do the laundry. Put stuff away. Here, I’ll start by setting a good example and put this sock I found lodged between my mattress and headboard which may or may not be clean back in its drawer.

K. Your turn.

3. Open windows

I don’t need to issue science’s findings or mystical musings to convince anyone (who’s experienced Virginia’s weather) of this. Stagnant air is suffocating. In a way, it’s much like chi itself – just ‘cause you can’t see a gag-worthy batch of air depleting your respiration capacity, doesn’t mean you can’t feel it. You know it’s there. And then you regret not keeping the window open or having turned on the A/C. Now that autumn’s arrived, try the former during daylight hours (however few’v’em we’ve got now) to save on energy expenses. Have fun with it. Light a candle. Play some music. Enjoy the breeze. Set a whole pre-sleep mood.

(Just don’t fall out while playing Holly G.)

4. Color me bedd

Get it? Like the band that did the “sex you up” song? You know what’s not sexy though? Eccentric bedclothes, say the energy experts. Whether it’s bright reds or Super Mario graphics, the vibrant stuff Dysons up chi from your room as you snooze. And your romantic life, they say. The fix? Earthy, fleshy tones – like cream, caramel, and the like.

(No mattress mobiles, either, thx.)

5. Fewer mirrors

Mirrors ping pong and amplify your life force, warn the pros.

While that sounds like it’d be a good thing – it’s allegedly not.

The fix?

Limit your reflective surfaces – to a grand total of one in your room.

(I don’t wanna see you tongue picking out your grill rot where I rest anyway.)

6. Less technology

So, I was gonna say that the solution to not having any mirrors could be to lay there and take selfies of yourself. But these buzz kills also are telling me not to have technology in or around my bed. That, I kinda get, I’ll concede. What with findings about blue light and whatnot, it’s probably not bad advice to stow your smartphones. But they take it a step further, even, saying it’s best to jettison your T.V. from the room altogether. Doesn’t bother me so much since I’m not my idiot box’s biggest fan. But I do know a few folks who’d sooner die than go without the lull of infomercials hypnotizing them to sleep with promises of acne relief, clean carpets, and larger chesticles.

(Translache: “I want to be the reason you have insomnia ’cause I value validation over your health.”)

7. Mattress switching

Gotta new lover in your life? There’s a rule for this too, they say. And that’s to buy a new mattress for your latest “bae”. (I still wonder if “bae” is meant to be the genderless version of “beau”; like how geese describes both chick and dude birds, even though each’ve got their own special names. #EndDigressionIn3,2,1…) That’s right. A new mattress for each new lay. This sounds optimal and all, but I can think of at least a few people I know who’d need a lifetime supply of free credit at Serta to be able to fund feng shui of this nature.

(Though, to be fair, maybe that’s where their true insomnia problem lies.)

The fix? Crash at their place, duh.

Or, ya know, be less whorey.

Well, some of these tips are fantastic – like cleaning my lair and hanging up my clothes (interestingly enough – both are things I need to do, like, yesterday). The technology bit would also be helpful (if I wasn’t addicted). But, regarding the bed and mattress maneuvering? That’s a toughie when you live alone. ‘cause while the silver lining may be that I don’t have any pesky picture frames clogging up my night table (and they did say less clutter’s better), there’s no one to help me wield my sleep vehicle around the room until it lands in the most zen position. Then again, I could just wait till I find a “new partner” to do the dirty with (and the dirty work of heavy lifting). Might as well make new dude pay dues before entry, right ladies?!

(Sigh. I’m not gonna be needing a “new mattress” for a really long time, am I?)

(Current relache status: trampoline park sized bed. And, apparently, power outlets in the corner of matching size.)

Old mattress or not, in the end, the takeaway, I think is this:

While some’a these are less doable, even one or two tweaks might be all ya need to sleep better.

Lemme know which one(s) work(s) for you!

A few fixes for your sleep induced back pain

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Hello there, darling.

How was your sleep last night?

Did you rest like a log? Or more like a log was crushing your vertebral string the whole time?

Ah. I can relate. While some people talk about drunkenly going to bed with a ten and waking up with a two, for some of us, it’s the reverse – on a scale o’ personal pain instead’a pretty partners. And I’ve been there. Still am, actually. Every day, I’ve gotta face this monster of ouchery head on. And while that sucks for me, what that means for you is that I’ve done a lotta research in my day to find the best way I can sleep to awake with a less spiralized spine. Thus, here’re a few tips I’ve learned from the pain mavens about sleep habits:

Side Switching

I remember – in the earlier days of my pain investigations – reading about how “sleeping on your side” was a good fix for bad backs. And while this still holds true, there’s an important yes-and to it: While you should pick your comfiest position, they do suggest you swap sides you sleep on every so often. Otherwise, you might start shifting your backbone into an unnatural position, making your sitch even worse. Hello frying pan contents (AKA my own osseous dorsal cord), meet fire. Wish I’d’ve known this tip far earlier. But, ya know what they say – my mistake’s your paved way to painlessness.

Hot Showers

This is something I should really start doing. While my rationale’s previously been “What’s the point in taking a shower when I’m just about to go for a run and get grosser within the next hour anyway?”, the pain pros make a good argument in favor of a morning shower. As you might’ve guessed, that’s the fact that the heat and steam helps loosen up your body meat. In fact, if I did this before my yoga, I’d probably be a bit more serene and make this face a li’l less during those first few poses.

Knee Squeezers

Sometimes a bad back can set off a domino effect of other issues – like your hips. For sufferers of this sort, it’s suggested often that you take your extra pillow (if you’re sleeping beside me, though, good luck; ‘cause I’m a cushion thieving queen) and lodge it betwixt your knees. What this does is take the pressure off your hips and back enough to keep everything from tightening up while you try to power off for the evening. And – if you’re not like me and you don’t spend the night unknowingly flopping around like a spilled-from-the-bowl goldfish, thereby projectile launching said pillow across the room – then you might just notice that you wake up in less agony than usual. Be sure to leave me a comment on how that works out for you, so I can vicariously enjoy your experience.

Invest

This is what my physical therapist always calls it – an “investment”. For the rest of the world, bedtime’s a nice relaxing way to recharge. For you ‘n I, however, it’s a daunting frienemy. Are we beleaguered and craving rest? Yes. Are we dreading bed’s effect on our body by sunrise? Yes and half. That’s why what you do outside of sleeptime’s so crucial so you don’t spend your morning mourning the lost hours you could’ve been doing something else other than four hours worth of exercises as you try to come alive. What’s that mean? Well, getting in with a body shaman like I’ve got (AKA physical therapist), doing the exercises they issue you religiously, and making sure to keep on top of your doctor’s appointments. I feel qualified to speak on this because I’m A.) terrible at following this advice myself B.) can thus vouch for how shizzy you’ll feel when you don’t follow said very good advice, and C.) can also vouch for how much better it’s felt on the rare occasions I do get it right. The one thing that does save me, though? The fact that I do a yoga routine e’rry morning to stretch out the taut muscles I wake mummified in. Where could I improve? Doing all my stretching and exercises before bed instead’a being the lazypants I am. That – and being more posture conscious during the day (‘cause eventually a hunchback stance feels just as ugly as it looks.)

And there ya have it. In a nutshell: Invest the time, take hot showers, do the exercises, watch your posture…. And if you’re spastic like this bish here – maybe get creative and have someone strap sideways-you in Dexter style so your pillow’ll stay between your damned knees.

So, let’s all raise a mug of Motrin spiked Valerian root tea and make a toast: here’s to sleeping right.

(Or left… if you’ve been doing “right” for too long.)

What should you wear to bed?

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In my 20’s, I’d get gussied up before I went out.

In fact, I expended a lot of brainpower picking the right outfit.

Why? I dunno. Probably ‘cause I was amped to go loaf off’a someone else’s bottle service.

These days, however, what excites me most is that moment I climb into bed to read, broadcast my deep thoughts on social media, and enjoy a nice long reprieve from my own brain (not counting the innumerable, unwelcome, witching hour wakeups). And you wanna know the funny thing? In the old days, I was only out for four or five hours tops before coming home and disrobing. When I sleep (on a good night), I’m presumably getting in the recommended seven. Yet… I don’t go all out with my gear for sleep. Why not – when I’m gonna be spending so much time in it? Is it the fact that no one’s going to see it? What about function? And health? And comfort? Don’t I have any integrity here? Why haven’t I been investing in a good snore wardrobe like I did my whore-drobe back in my party monster days?

Deciding that this defect of my character needs to change, I put on my research gear.

And went spelunking in the caves o’ Google for a pajama panacea.

What should I be wearing to bed?

Let’s do some comparing…

Silk

For a good long time, I went through a phase where I wore nada but silk slips anytime I was home and in lounge mode – including sleep time. The plus is that it matches your body’s temp related needs; if you’re chilly, it’ll warm you – and if you’re warm, it’ll cool you down. The downside? If it’s legit silk, it’s a bish to hafta clean. Also, if you’re rockin full jammies (or a robe) of silk, you can expect some slippage and mayhaps a few mishaps in the form of graceless bed dismounts.

WetWickers (moisture wicking)

I actually had to look this one up. But the idea with moisture wickers is that if you tend to sweat while you sleep, the fabric does the dirty work of collecting your disgusting body water. That way, you can lay there snoring and your bod’s temperature regulation can carry on unhindered. I dunno. While I love the idea of smart fashion (espesh the kind that lets me sleep without waking up in my own pore drizzle), I just can’t help but thinking I’d be sleeping in that one magical dish rag the whole time that the slap chop guy used to promo.

Old fashioned flannel

For me, personally, I’m not a fan of flannel pajama pants – just because I’m such an active sleeper. And with the friction of flannel against my blanket, that means I’ll’ve rotisseried myself into a blonde burrito by the time the alarm sounds. That said, there are some definite pluses to this trusty go to for those of you whose bodies are calmer than mine. For instance: it’s soft, comfy, warm, and lets your skin breathe (versus some of the other warm options sans the aeration that over-roast you). I’d say another “con” is that they’re tough to make look sexy, but that’s subjective.

And also, this:

Bamboo…?

I had to confirm this one was a thing – just because I’m ignorant and still have this concept of bamboo being strictly for kickboxing shin strengthening and putting under the fingernails of your foes in Vietnam. However, sure as my bruised lower leg leg, there it was on the list of sleepwear. The plant may be hearty, but the fibers spun outta it end up soft and silky on your cutaneous coating come bedtime. Like the dishcloth jammies above, bamboo’s a natural moisture wicker, meaning you regulate a comfy temp. But it also has additional benefits – for example, how it’s hypoallergenic, biodegradable, and (allegedly) has anti bacterial properties. I’m not sure how some of those pros would benefit me specifically – but I admit it’s still sorta appealing. Even though that’s probably just because I’m an aspiring hippie. One who hugs and kicks trees. (And may start wearing ’em soon too, apparently.)

Cotton

While it’s au natch, light, breathable, and cuddly… the couple big drawbacks of cotton might just be enough to make it worth dismissing from the list. And that’s that (kinda like the opposite of silk) it doesn’t insulate well or moisture-wick very effectively for those who sweat mid snooze. In other words, if you’re going through menopause in the winter while rockin’ cotton to bed, you’re gonna have a bad time.

Sheep sheathing

Wool or fleece is something I’d suggest. That is, it’s something I’d suggest if you’re lost in the frigid wilderness, equipped with nada but shears, and come across a community of sheep. Those are pretty much the only circumstances I’d recommend it for. Why? ‘cause while the stuff keeps you warm, it overheats you until you wake up wondering why you chose pajamas made of fire ants. The disgusting yes-and to this is that, as you accrue skin blisters, you’re also perspiring all the while – seeing as fleece doesn’t let fresh oxygen get to your body’s surface. I can vouch for this as well as a diabolical cousin of it: abhorrent angora. I was forced to wear this stuff back in middle school. And I still can feel the skin above my ribs burning and errant hairs of baby blue bunny follicles in my eyes. And face. And nose holes.

Bras… to bed?

This one’s an interesting addition I figured I’d inject for the ladies.

Many of us wonder if rocking a boulder holder (or pebble net) is helpful in preventing saggage down the line.

“Keep trying? Or give up altogether and spend my golden years freeboobing?”

And… the verdict’s unfortunately still out on how much it helps. No real scientific evidence thus far. However, I can confirm what the experts do have to say about this (along with every other kinda sleepwear on here). And that’s this: wear what makes you feel comfy. For me, lately that’s been a light bra and something barely-there-but-enough-to-keep-spiders-from-entering-nether-orifices. For you, that might be any of the above options. Yes, even the disgusting, self-punishing fashion like lamb locks or Thumper’s fuzz. But now, thanks to this research, I can add a fabric related yes-and to my routine. In fact, I’ve made a final decision. I’ll be calling my seamstress imminently to fashion some skimpy Franken-jamas for me: Bamboo cups for the boobs, sexy silk for the bottom…And, of course, a light lining of slapchop dishcloth wherever my pores tend to pour.

Hmm. Actually…

Add some hooker heels, and that sounds like something I would’ve worn to the club in my 20’s.

Why do we sleep with lights and noise?

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“Could you get the light?”

When I was a kid, I’d ask this every night I was tucked in.

I mean, I knew that if I forgot to request it, my mom would turn on the tin teddy bear beaming perforated rays across the room anyway. But I never wanted to risk it. I was that fearful of the dark. Why? Some have suggested overactive imaginations. This sounds like as good an explanache as any. And, as a creative writer, I’m in a good posiche to either confirm or deny it. ‘cause this mind’s doing the slalom course through unreality all day long. My brain’s own imaginative range can span from wondrous J.K. Rowling to horrifying Stephen King (generally at the most inconvenient of times). Just like a kid. And these days… I can’t sleep sans darkness. However, that’s not to dismiss what the experts are saying. ’cause that’s been a more recent update. My aforementioned light-requiring bedtime ritual ran far longer than it should’ve after childhood.

(And long after my maternal maker was there to cohost it.)

There was a point in my life (a break from sanity, I think they call it), when I even believed that alien abductions were occurring during my evening departures from wakefulness. And, interestingly enough, I wasn’t alone. It’s not just children. ‘cause there’re plenty of other grown azz men and women who do the same with their own list of unnamed fears. Wanna know the way they get away with it (and keeping their pride intact unlike myself)? By denying that it’s a fear based thing and turning it into some self-diagnosed insomnia problem instead. They indignantly say stuff like, “Oh, I can’t sleep without the T.V. on.” That way it sounds like they have a problem (insomnia) and their doing something productive about it – like a sorta misguided technology based insomnia prescription. And I’m not finger wagging here. I’m identifying. ’cause that’s pretty much a direct quote from my own history. My chiding is mere retrospective facepalm-ing over what I was subconsciously doing back then. (And probably still am with my late night Instagramming.) What we don’t realize, though, is that this’s even worse than the night lights kids use. Children just get a few, silent, artificial photons. (Or at least they used to, when I was a kid.) Most don’t have the additional television cacophony like we use to block out the goblins tumbling out of our brains after watching “Whispers”, learning another college massacre’s transpired, or wondering just how near we are to that prison with the escaped rapist. You’d think it’d make for a nice distraction, but according to snooze experts, lights – especially anything with blue-light – can just exacerbate your sitch by ruining your circadian rhythm.

Plus, with electronics on, we don’t get true rest.

(Also, we can’t control which conflicting bits get implanted into our subconsciousness.)

I’ve written about the effects of blue-light near bedtime before.

And (though I’m still pretty terrible about phone browsing), I’ve made a lotta headway since the old days.

But why do we grown folk feel a need to sleep ensconced in a technology carnival in the first place?

How do we fix the underlying issue?

Well, I suppose what helped me was when I stopped watching ridiculous shiz like “The Fourth Kind” and began infusing my brain with things that have more relevant-to-life messages. Like “Adventure Time”. (You laugh, but I challenge you to watch without learning some symbolically issued message.) Or “Brain Games”. More online documentaries and less T.V. flipping. More reading and less web browsing. More IRL interaction and less digital interaction. Less gossiping and more lauding. While this’s starting to sound like it’s more about enlightenment than lights, I think there’s a bigger message to be shared here. Because, as illustrated above, adults are actually more scared than children. Why? Because we don’t have anyone we trust to laugh and tell us “It’s alright, darling. Just your imagination. There’s no reason to be afraid.” We try to do it through religion, but when most of those are led by hypocrites, obfuscated by politics, and bastardized by misinterpretation, we throw out the baby with the holy water in which it was christened – eschewing any kinda spirituality at all. Dogma or not. And then we cling to the wrong things. We’re meant to be the ones handling shiz, and when we’re in doubt, we start reaching for the wrong answers. Distractions which just amplify the problem. We take on the weight of them one by one like the junk lady from the Labyrith till night falls and we’re left good and schizophrenically terrified – and reaching for more via the complimentary insanity a T.V. or social media scrolling provides.

So, here’s the truth: We’re all imaginative creatures.

We’re all imaginative in that we manufacture our own reality right from our noggins. We receive life through the filter we create. The trick is to make that stimulus strainer a bit more Disney and a li’l less Tim Burton. That means you want a good, healthy, factory to work with. And a flawlessly running subconscious. ’cause the nature of that is gonna dictate who we are, how we feel, and the net through which we reel in reality. I, as a child-woman, had to come to re-associate the darkness with recharging time. (Meditation helps, seeing as you do a lotta self-calming in nada but darkness.) Yet, I couldn’t comfortably do that till I’d eliminated the stuff – Hollywood and news alike (admittedly tough to distinguish sometimes) that was collectively suspending me in a place of negativity. The final step was replacing all’a that with the things that grounded me serenely in reality – and keeping off technology at sleep time. It took a bit of willingness to perform an insanectomy on my crazed brain. But nowanights, by sunset, the whole cast of creatures from “Cabin in the Woods” could be gathering at the foot of my bed (presumably for the annual “Eat whichever limb’s sticking out from under the covers” conference). And I’d still just ask them the same thing I used to ask my mom – but with the opposite meaning.

“Could you get the light?”

’cause without a good rest, I can’t handle all the other imagination monsters my mind sires.

Here – snort this stuff. It’ll help you sleep.

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With a thin lipped smile, I accepted the lavender infused pillow my mother handed me.

“No, really,” she said. “Give it a try. It’ll help you sleep.”

At the time, I was a bit dismissive of the concept.

I’d been living in such a way that countered openness to aromatherapy as a cure. My mind demanded products from bottles sheathed in warning signs before it would shut down for the day. My anxious legs did invisible Tours de France nightly without the coveted toxins. Until – they started doing that even with them. (Tolerance is a bish.) So, I begrudgingly took my fluffy consolation prize and put it next to me on my bed where my lovers usually slept.

(My lovers. Fighting over me, as you can see. As usual.)

And, also as usual, mom was onto something.

‘cause while it took a while for me to come around, there’s a whole science to aromatherapy and its effect on our cranial supercomputer. There’s a reason why it works – beyond mere placebo effect. And what’s that, exactly? Well, it has to do with how a given scent can punch us right in the feels. Sometimes that’s a wakeful feel (like a fresh bar of Coast soap – for me). Sometimes that’s a sleepy feel (like lavender – and a buncha other ones I’ll imminently list). What happens, though, is this: the moment you inhale something aromatic like an essential oil, that scent gets whisked away to olfactory nerve cells (which live in your nose.) From there, the message travels to your sniff-ery (AKA your olfactory system). From there, things get interesting. Because the aroma-message gets emailed to your brain – but not just any old part. It goes straight to the emotion mill. (AKA the limbic system) If that doesn’t sound like a big deal, think’a it this way: the limbic system’s the place you can blame and thank for forking out all’a those emotions (and the subsequent emotional behavior) like intimacy, sexuality, and passion. While that may sound like a long and drawn out process, the effects are fairly immediate. As your emotions tweak (hopefully for the better, in the case of aromatherapy), you might notice stress dissolve… and your muscle tension doing the same along with it. That’s when your intrinsic pharmacy can kick in and deliver a script full’a serotonin and endorphins to your door.

Boom. Dreamtime. Boom. Science.

Or, as the pros more eloquently put it:

“Our sense of smell is 10,000 more powerful than any other sense and the recognition of smell is immediate. (Other senses like touch travel to the brain via the spinal cord.) Smell is also the strongest link to the subconscious mind and also to our collective unconscious mind where memories are stored.”

So, which scents (and mediums of delivering ‘em) are right for you?

Well, for me, the medium I’ve always loved has been candles. Yankee’s overpriced sage and citrus infused jars of wick and wax wake me up, while their patchouli puts me at peace. (Plus, I don’t own a fireplace, so there’s something kinda cozy about proximity to a single flame in the cold moths.) However, ever a fan of novelty (and ever desiring things I don’t have), I’ve been thinking of trying out essential oils for the first time. (Actually “first time” is a lie: I tried to make my own at a hippie shop downtown once, but it ended up smelling like something a cat voids into a pan of sand.) Plus, a small vial of oil will be a cheap way to test my preferences out – before buying the giant candle version of it. Thus, I summoned my Google gadget to snatch up a few flavors for my smellery to try this week.

Not surprisingly, Lavender is at the top:

1. Lavender
2. Vetiver
3. Roman Chamomile
4. Ylang ylang
5. Bergamot
6. Sandalwood
7. Marjoram
8. Cedarwood

It’ll take me a while to try all of them. (Gotta cleanse the proboscis palate of interfering variables between sleeps like a good scientist.) But, once I do, I should start to notice a litany of other issues improving. Because the claims from fans of the stuff are that it can elevate overall mood, aid in joint health, and even alleviate sore muscles. (If you’re incapable of not moving for more than fifteen minutes at a time and always feel like you’ve just run a marathon. Like me.)

And why is a former nonbeliever like me suddenly so open to seemingly fairy tale nonsense?

Well, firstly, ’cause Saint Science said it’s true.

And, aside from that, it works in application. And it has worked for me. I mean, I won’t pretend that the lavender scented headrest whisked me into reverie straight away the night I brought it home. I still had a lot of system purging to do. It took a little time cutting ties with my prescription relationship (and clearing my brain and sanguine freeways) before the au natch cures could work. But I will tell you this: within a short period (after the pain of detox ceased), this genre of things I’d previously eschewed gained new interest for me. Candles were my qualudes. Burning oils were my benzos. And as for that flowery pillow?

It’s lulled my olfactory bulb to sleep for many, many moons now. (Thanks mom.)

So many, in fact (come to think of it), I’m pretty sure it’s doing the same for a few million dust mites, too.

Might be time to put a rush order on those oils…

Graveyard shifts: No nighttime Z’s could cause the big “C”.

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The graveyard shift.

There are plenty of fun explanations for why they coined this term for nocturnal working.

For instance, one fun rumor centers on the belief that the phrase initiated in the 19th century. The idea’s that sometimes people who hadn’t officially checked out got boxed up and sent for an extended subterranean stay under the local outdoor tombstone museum. Not a pleasant way to wake up, I imagine – in a box. And, since that scene from “Kill Bill” is unfortunately not plausible IRL, that meant the former corpses would need a li’l assistance emerging from the earth to rejoin society. According to people (creative liars, I think they’re called), the caskets had a ringing device in them so the un-dead could sound it and attendants working the … you guessed it – graveyard shift… could come to their rescue.

Now, obviously, that sounds like fun to someone as equal parts morbid and whimsical as I am. However, the reality is far less exciting. According to Michael Quinion (from something called World Wide Words – experts on this sorta thing), it’s just an old wive’s tale. (Yet another phrase like “graveyard shift” I’m not clear on – is it old lady fables we’re talking about? Or bored housewives exchanging old myths?). He goes on to offer another exlanache. And, disappointed as I was, it made more sense, considering the fact that the term “graveyard shift” allegedly didn’t arise till after the 19th century. The graveyard shift, he says, was popularized ‘cause it brought to mind “the night shift between about midnight and eight in the morning, when – no matter how often you’ve worked it – your skin is clammy, there’s sand behind your eyeballs, and the world is creepily silent, like the graveyard…”

Sounds a lot more likely, yes?

But there may be more than meets the bloodshot eye here. That is to say, there could be an interesting yes-and to this term… on a far more morbid level. One where your P.M. “shift” could lead you to the “graveyard” sooner than planned. And why would I say something awful like that? Only ‘cause it’s true. Because back in 2007, the International Agency for Research on Cancer (the cancer arm of the World Health Organization) added overnight shift work to their list of probable carcinogens. And how’s that possible? Because: melatonin. When you force your body to power through snooze time, you eff up your circadian rhythm’s (that’s your body’s biological clock) flow. That means melatonin (which you normally make at nighttime) gets disrupted too. (‘cause light shuts down melatonin production.) Why’s that matter? A number of reasons – not the least of which is the fact that it helps squelch budding tumors.

And how’d they deduce this?

Well, to be fair it’s not “proven”. It’s just a very strong correlation they observed after noticing night shift nurses tended to land themselves a dose of cancer earlier than the average Jane. Initially, I was skeptical. The fact that many chicks and dudes working till sunup respectively ended up with breast and prostate cancer didn’t necessarily prove anything. It could be a number of factors. I mean, when I’m sleep deprived, I make some pretty poor choices. So, maybe, if you’re living a life without enough Z’s, you end up with the big C for a litany of other reasons. Because indulging in toxic habits seems a little more appealing than it would on a full tank of melatonin with your wits about you. (Plus, I also hear most nurses just hate their jobs anyway – so maybe all that negative thought builds into a cancer bulb. Who knows.)

And the researchers conceded this… and proceeded to look at wider demographics. Even animals.

And what’d they find?

This:

“Also, animals that have their light-dark schedules switched develop more cancerous tumors and die earlier.”

Now, I dunno about you, but my dog’s only vices are torpor and turd purging where she’s not meant to.

She doesn’t sneak outside for a smoke when I scold her. And she doesn’t hit up the local melanoma salon to get a base tan for summer. I imagine most other animals are similarly abstemious not by choice, as well. Which means, if those with no carcinogenic vices (and robbed of nightly rest) have higher chances of cancer and early deadsies too… then there’s a bit more evidence for the correlation above.

So if the “clammy, sandy-eyed” description rings a bell for you night owls…

Then it might be time to ring your two-weeks coffin bell device, and depart the graveyard shift.

Before you prematurely end up in a real one.

Sig other’s subconscious mattress chatter keeping you up?

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Ever wish your lover was more vocal in bed?

Well, be careful what you wish for.

Because you might just end up with a loquacious slumberer instead of… whatever your dirty mind was thinking just now. Case in point? Last serious relationship I was in. Dude was half Brock O’ Hurn, half hulk. And that persona didn’t disappear when he drifted off to dreamland either – which, I assume was filled with motorcycle-satan centaurs violently assaulting one another. Especially when he would quasi come to consciousness only to issue a slew of colorful invectives to some unseen entity. (He seemed pretty committed to it, though, so I always had to check around the room to confirm the drama was solely unfolding within the confines of his mind.)

(To be fair, though, he was the same way in waking life. #consistency)

Then, one day, I got on the receiving end of it. Homeboy’d dozed off in the middle of some cinematic flop we’d opted to watch. I was trying my hardest to follow it through to the finish (so that, inevitably, when he woke up and asked me how it ended, I’d have a good answer; though generally I just made something up). But, as I neared the climax of the flick (not saying much), I felt a sudden plummet of his arm onto mine. “STFU!” he bellowed in non-acronym form, in a voice not unlike the one you’d hear in a Mushroomhead song. Carefully, using as few cervical (that’s neck; not vaginal) muscles as I could, I cocked (that’s motion; not penis) my head to the side to check the status of his eyelids. Closed, I confirmed, deducing he was just having a moment. I began to proceed watching the abomination on my screen some more. FLOP! The vexed gesture of my boyfriend’s arm this time was accompanied by another profane statement. This time, personal. It would’ve been the funniest thing ever had I not made it funnier by making the mistake of engaging him in subconscious dialog:

“Oh?” I asked, not expecting a reply.

“YEAH,” he surprisingly retorted curtly.

“You’re having a dream, hun,” I tried, fully expecting to ruin my own fun.

“NO,” he insisted, “You guys are sitting there talking sh*t about me!”

“You’re dreaming!” I again attempted.

This time, his eyes opened a little – upper and lower lids, still semi embracing one another via booger glue.

“No,” he began sardonically, “You were all right there, trying to-…”

Then as his wits slowly were restored, he looked around the room, realizing he’d just emerged from a different reality. His eyes darted in my direction – then quickly back – to avoid the kind of eye contact you hafta make when you realize you might’ve just done something dumb. Genuinely amused, I kept my gaze fixed on him. This was priceless. It was good enough – the dream tantrum. But the post-waking reaction? Golden. As I was stifling a laugh into a shiz eating grin, we caught eyes again. “Whatever,” he grumbled, flopping sideways onto his pillow.

“I’m still pissed.”

With entertainment like this, who needs lackluster Blockbuster? (Yes, it was that long ago, TYVM.)

These days, I don’t have to deal much with the sleep talkers. But the missing part of this story (and the source of my deviant side wanting payback by taunting with my sig other) is that… you guessed it: I do it too. While my dude may’ve thrown siesta fits, mine were more of the night terror variety. Nothing too grave. Just enough to annoy my mattress-mate as much as he did it to me. (Our sleep relache was an impeccable reflection of our waking one). And now, years after he’s gone and off probably causing a nocturnal nuisance to some other woman admiring his snoozing Greek physique to remind her why she remains with him, I’m left wondering one thing: are there any adverse side effects to these pillow soliloquies? Am I unknowingly doing myself harm via dreamtime dissertations or something?

So, naturally, I looked it up.

And found… very little.

Surprisingly, though there’ve been as many studies as there’ve been sheep I’ve counted trying to get back to sleep after being woken by vocalizations of my former darling, they don’t seem to have enough to indicate why sleep speaking transpires – or even in what stage. (IOW: it’s not always during dreams that it happens.) Some people have night terrors (which can accompany walking into the street or getting violent). Some bust from slumber into speeches and eat the contents of their refrigerator. Others, even, have risen with their eyes closed to explain to their testers how they’re about to go exercise – and then jog in place for forty minutes at a time. Right in the middle of the sleep lab.

You’d think that’d help us (and the poor latest ladylove of my ex – and my next ex-to-be) arrive at a solution of some sort.

(Aside from this.)

But the most I could glean from some of the more legit publications was essentially the same advice you hear about any other shuteye sufferings you might be enduring. Limit the late day caffeine. Give yourself seven hours of rest. Avoid stress (ORLY?). The one good piece of advice I did consider worthwhile, though, was this: keep a slumber log that lists when you do any activities that might affect your sleep (after breakfast latte, after dinner cardio, after dessert pipe full’a china white … all the usual suspects). And then, after you’ve kept a diary for a week or two, head into the sleep doctor to see if something needs tweaking to suppress your evening speaking. Or, if you’re insurance is as shizzy as mine, you can just try shuffling one habit at a time till “bae” quits complaining about you waking her/him up anymore. (Or you can just invite bae to depart the premises permanently. Like I did.) And, voila, when their carping ceases, you know which habit’s the culprit and maintain the change you’ve made.

In the end – night terrors aside – it would seem that chatty napping has but one proven adverse affect.

And that’s on whoever’s unfortunate enough to be bedmates with the babbler.

(However Hollywood level entertaining it may be.)