Fancy an un-nap nap, anyone?

Anyone here heard of the un-nap nap before?

No?

Me either – up until yesterday.

When my dad handed me this excerpt from the Huffington Post, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Why? Well, obviously, part of it’s ‘cause droning on about dozing’s what I do. But the other part is the nature of the proffered rest process. What it is, essentially, is something like an abbreviated chakra meditation – but more muscle specific. And how’s it like a nap? The claim, they say, is that it rejuvenates you. The same way a midday lay down might do – but while remaining awake enough to make the segue back into work easier. Which is great, because I always just get greedy after a f’real nap and want to remain sedentary. My whole productivity M.O. is momentum based. I break-take begrudgingly and return early. Yet, around three-ish in the post meridian, I’m admittedly lacking liveliness and rapidly turning into a cranky toddler. Thus, yes, I was open to the idea. Intrigued. Tell me more, I inwardly mused as I chugged the remainder of my soy latte during my lunch hour, hoping the trick I’d imminently learn might save me from an involuntary, impromptu power-down of the narcoleptic genre. So that I wouldn’t get reamed for comporting myself like an ambulatory corpse.

Like my coworker just had an hour before.

(This is how I have to assume all staff castigation goes. Judging by the emotional aftermath.)

So… how’s it work?

Interestingly enough, unlike a lot of other meditative techniques you’d do, this one doesn’t ask you to relax at all. Quite the contrary. In fact, that’s why it’s been dubbed a “paradoxical relaxation technique”. That is to say that by actively not relaxing – you relax. Okay, I think, Now, I’m befuddled as *well* as fatigued. I thought the idea was to activate my attention, not confusion-subdue it with this Mad Hatter rant I’m hearing. Relax by not relaxing? HTF do I do that?

Via equal parts of focus and visualization, they say.

(That’s nice, Mr. Bing, but this thing is one you do with your eyes closed.)

To start with, as just mentioned, you draw your optical shades down.

And cover said peepers with your paws.

Then, you power on your somatic wifi and search for a tension signal.

What’s tightest right now? Your neck? The muscles above your brows? The skin sheathing the cardiac meatwad which your terrified employees genuinely believe you don’t even own? Find the tight spot yet? “No, I’ve found five billion,” you might cheekily reply. And that’s fine. But, for now, let’s pick your fave. And once you do, for thirty seconds, all you’re gonna do is focus on it. Not try to relax it. Not try to modify it. Or intensify it. Just take one hand, momentarily point to the taut zone (sans touching), put your hand back over your eyes… and then visualize that muscle without trying to change it. For half a minute. After that, you go onto the next muscle. And the next. And the next. (Or however many you can get in the whopping micro-moment break you can afford between the barrage of emails and rapidfire text messages). For each subsequent region after the half minute one, you spend roughly fifteen seconds focusing on the next tense muscle.

That’s great ‘n all, you might be thinking, but what’s the science here?

Does this five minute focused facepalm exercise have any actual logic behind it?

I hear ya.

As a woman of science, I don’t do well with blindly following self-help advice unless it comes with at least a brief biological explanache outlining why it’ll work. Actually, that’s a lie. I did this one (out’ve desperation) immediately and found results fairly fast. Even though it took me longer than thirty seconds to ease into the process. However, luckily for both’a us, there is a method to this seemingly mental suggestion. Per Dr. Matthew Edlund of the Center for Circadian Medication, it works because compared to regular rest which “rebuilds and revives the body”, he says “active rest helps you direct that rebuild to go the way you want.” He then goes on to add: “All of which can make you more productive, relaxed, concentrated – and often looking and feeling younger, too.” Makes sense. The analogy that dawned on me initially went something like this: you know how it is when you’re having a sluggish day at work? Up until your coworker gets pulled aside and berated by your mutual boss, only to emerge from the office with tear stained cheeks ten minutes later? (#TrueStory) When this happened at my clinic the other day, the peripheral response was immediate and nearly palpable. Everyone else in the office seemed to think, “Whew… ‘least the spotlight’s not on me!” It was like we all entered this relaxed state of awareness. More awake and attentive – yet comfortable and calm. Similarly, by focusing all of your attention on just one tense body area – but using no energy by trying to change it – all your neighboring muscles kinda relax, too. Much like the chemical burn scene from “Fight Club”, it’s by accepting our discomfort that we ultimately change it. And this seemingly counterintuitive method’s the vinegar versus water way of neutralizing the sleepy burn. (Apologies to anyone who’s not seen the cult classic to know the ref.; butchya totally should.) And what about your furrowed forehead muscles you’ve been focusing on, you ask? They – along with the rest of your parts – get relief too – when you move onto the next tense area. Boom. Science. Boom. Another eight hours conquered via a brief anti-siesta. In fact, perhaps I should pass this method onto my browbeaten work pal. I mean, she looks like she could use it after that vitriolic pow-wow. Plus, the calming mechanism might just save her from a second serving of attacks by upper manageme-

Wait.

And risk me being the next muscle to get “focused on” soon as she’s off the radar?

Mmmm… mayhaps I should un-nap on it before making any rash decisions…

Nap desk: fantastic concept – or lavish fund guzzler?

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So, the “nap desk” prototype is here.

That’s right. A desk… that you slumber under. Though I’m seeing its image everywhere, I don’t know why. It doesn’t seem altogether novel, does it? Brings to mind the scene from Grandma’s Boy after Mel Gibson look-a-like gets kicked outta his house. Or that one Seinfeld episode I never saw but everyone keeps referencing. Or that one chiropractor I worked for who got really upset whenever I disturbed him by knocking on the door to make sure he was still alive ’cause his “special time” under his worktable was infringing on his own patients’ wait time by an hour plus.

Yes, the nap desk, however cool it looks, doesn’t seem like a particularly new concept.

(“I’m keeping this uncomfortable ponytail up as a subconscious reminder to get back to work soon…”)

However, as I’ve been trying to live on a path of open-mindedness, I’m attempting to zoom out and see both sides of the coin before inevitably dismissing it from my personal option list (but mayhaps championing it for you poor souls whose lifestyle choices include 25 hour days of seat cementing gluteal grooves into an swivel cushion.) In the end, my verdict’s that while the desk’s not my cup of Z’s, the workaholics will love this idea. I know this because I’m a workaholic myself. I find that label’s a nice way to look down on people who aren’t and pretend that I’m somehow better than those with the emotional intelligence to actually balance their lives and tolerate themselves during moments of leisure. But, alas. I don’t even get to consider this posh escritoire as a consolation prize for having an inverse relache between my EQ and work ethic. ’cause none of what I do involves the kind of work you do sat in a building office. (I’ve made sure of that.) If I wanna break, I can just go to my gigantic queen sized bed. (Though I don’t; I get too excited at the prospect of a nap midday that I can’t sleep at all.) Thus, this desk ain’t for me. But for those of you desk dwellers content with living for the work you do versus doing work for a living, let’s review the pros and cons of this nap contraption.

Beginning with the good stuff:

1. It’s a very creative space saver.

(Even if you will prob spend half your time doing this solo horizontal waltz.)

I just helped my dad get a desk recently. Pretty standard. Nothing spesh. But he’d been eyeing it for a while to put in the basement so he could “make more room”. And how did it accomplish that, you might ask? Because he’s storing all this nostalgic crap on it from a job he had two centuries ago that he’s never going to actually use. Somehow, I thought that’s what file cabinets and boxes were for. But who am I to judge how you innovatively use a desk to conserve space? Whether you’re indulging packratting or naptime with your desk, you all get points for creativity. But the desk bed admittedly wins this round. Because my dad’s basement’s since filled to the brim… with more memorabilia.

But I can’t talk. If I had this thing, I’d probably use the bed space as a file cabinet. #runsinthefamily

2. Turning in during pre-deadline time.

(Versus waking up with a QWERTY face keyboard tattoo)

Are you someone chronically haunted by your race against the second hand? Got late meetings and a long commute home? Or even just one of those folk with a career description you have to repeat to me five times because it’s got words like “government” or “proposal” in it and that’s not relatable enough for me to process when I’m as self involved and disinterested as I am? And you’re constantly crashing on stuff that’s due yesterweek? Well, my eye bag addled pal, mayhaps a desk like this is for you. With a sleep space installed at the foot of your toil table, you don’t go through the break-your-flow process of packing up your shiz, heading home for a nap, and then returning in an hour or three to try and remember how to adult.

3. It’s basically a maturity fort.

Let’s all climb inside and pretend we’re partaking in necessary not-fun-ness.

Versus the childlike luxury that it is.

4. Great segue into the work week.

Not ready for Monday yet? Why not hide in your hive cell and carry on with the party (until that meeting happens at three that’s essentially a regurgitation of the last one but is mandatory so that those issuing it can feel relevant and hear themselves talk)?

And… the bad?

1. Mixing bizz with zzz’s.

I’ve often heard that we shouldn’t “work in bed”. Granted, I’ll do the Winston Churchill thing and check my mail or jot down a few of those coming-into-consciousness notes you remember upon waking about what you have to do later. But doing actual work that close to where I catch shut eye? With a brain as wonky as mine, I’m afraid I’d have this Pavlovian mix-up response. My mind would inconveniently set off with new ideas begging to be addressed when I lay down, while my slumberlust would set in the second I sit at my PC and know a futon’s at my feet.

2. Care for a neck snap mid nap?

No, I don’t mean cuzza your spastic night terrors.

Scroll up to the napdesk pic again. I’ll wait.

See them flimsy chains? If they break, you’ll be on bedrest for a lot longer than intended.

3. One more thing to wash

(Unless you do the Finn move. And cocoon yourself atop the sheets.)

When I’m getting off work, the to-do list is long enough. Not that I actually accomplish any of it. But just the thought of knowing I should be knocking items off my list is pretty exhausting. It’s like this dissonance induced shame I could totally fix but don’t. Why add another article of laundry to be lugged into your vehicle onto the list? Along with dishes, trash, vacuuming, and washing your dog with Alzheimer’s and faulty bowels who’s inevitably initiated a game of “Brown Easter Egg Hunt” for you to play upon reentry into your residence?

4. If you’re gonna pay that much…

I know that I just mentioned how much money you could save on gas or hotels… but when you actually think about it, can you imagine how much this thing’s gonna cost? They don’t even list the price online. And from my experience with those fancy restaurants I never get invited to, when they do that on the menu, it’s never a good sign. Usually means you’ve gotta pull out a different colored credit card. For that amount of money, why not just install an on-call room? For that amount of money, I say screw the nap. For that amount of money, siphon off a little for some Starbuckian stimulant elixir to trudge through the tasks, save the rest up, and (if ‘bucks hasn’t wiped your account out by then), head out for a holiday soon after. I mean, shoot. Invest in an inflatable office mattress or something when you return (bonus: less cleaning to do later). Save the fort-making for your four year old, GTFO of town for a bit, and maybe go somewhere you can sleep under the stars. Instead’a centimeters from where your arse was a second ago.

In sum: creative… but maybe we should all “work” more quality downtime into our busy lives.

In lieu of purchasing furniture that perpetuates early onset ulcers, grey hair, and kyphosis.

(This has been a reading from the gospel of hypocrisy.)

Is this new sleeping pill any better than its predecessors?

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In “The Machinist”, an anorexic Batman spends a year wallowing in insomnia and marinating in madness.

Nada seems to calm his brain enough to zonk out.

From a hard day’s work to giving Jennifer Jason Leigh a good rogering.

Sound familiar, my insomnipals? Has it gotten bad enough for you that you’ve stowed aboard the medicine wagon, hoping to find the answer each time some new drug comes out? Like this Belsomra they’re pushing now? Despite my pharmaphobia, I’ll bite (not literally; but I’ll look it up for the lot’a you ’cause I’m such a good person). Alright. So we research it, and we learn that it’s “different” because it works on Orexin (our waker-upper neurotransmitters) – whereas prior pill types have upped our GABA (our downer neurotransmitters). Okay, that’s great. Facts are fun. But how’s it look in application compared to the OG’s?

Well, after perusing the article linked above, I learned the following about Belsomra:

1. It’s mostly popular ’cause of the advertising for it.
2. An insomnia study observed that those taking it only got an extra 16 minutes of sleep
3. The same study showed they fell asleep only 6 minutes faster than the control group.
4. Users report feeling like they can’t move or talk.
5. Next-day drowsiness is a side-effect.

Now that I’ve told you all’a that, here’s number 6:

All the bad things about this drug make it pretty much the same as the others. They namely carry the same side effects. In other words, none of these things is genuinely an argument to avoid Belsomra any more than you would Ambien, Lunesta, or whatever other magical nap inducing tablet the shiny grilled sales rep’s wheeling into your local pill mill today. What is, though, is good old common sense – to avoid ‘em all, collectively, if you can. Especially if you’ve been slurping down the current options to no avail (other than the fact that it’s become a bedtime ritual you’re hooked on.) Because – if you know that there’s little to no difference between the GABA uppers and the Orexin suppressors – wouldn’t it follow that there’s little to no point in trying the new pharmaceutical kid in town? I get it. Our brains love novelty. When I see “new drug”, I’m all over that article like my dog on fallen floor scraps. Even though I know I’m not gonna take it. But, when we invite a li’l logic into this particular case, it’s easy to see we’re all just being duped by expert advertising, hype, and docs who wanna upgrade their Mercedes.

Do as you like, says I, but I just thought I’d interject some reason in there.

At the same time, though, I don’t like to knock down one option without at least offering a possible alternative. And what’d that be, you ask? Well, people who’re a bit more scholarly than I am seemed to agree on a pretty valid point regarding insomnia. And that’s this: that few people look at the underlying causes that induce sleeplessness in the first place. Our habits. What we expose ourselves to. How much time we spend around technology. And, obviously, our sleep patterns themselves. A good jumping off point, they suggest, is recruiting some pro level assistance to help us address what factors in our lives are likely causing restfulness to elude us.

“Eye-rolls. Eye-rolls everywhere…”

Yes, I can hear your optical organs journeying skyward at the mere notion of therapy.

Like, it’s the most ridiculous self-indulgent thing ever right?

But you know what else is ridiculous? Spending more money on addressing the symptom (while gifting yourself a litany of mystery side effects) when you could be spending far less addressing the issue’s nucleus. You gotta pluck it out. Like the white, meaty core of a staph infection. (Now, take that delicious metaphor to sleep with you.) It could be some deep seated psychological prob with an intrinsic answer. Just like in the end of the “The Machinist”.

At the conclusion, Bale realizes *spoiler alert* that his own guilt over a suppressed memory of a hit and run he’s done is what’s wrecking his rest. He has to confess and deal with it before he can finally sleep. While (hopefully) your self-deception’s burying something more benign, the anxiety of any dissonance could still be enough to put your slumber asunder. Honestly, it could be as simple as the stuff you’re doing surrounding down time that’s hit ‘n running your rest. (Which you’re equally in denial about being the problem). Either way, hiring up some help to exhume some truth might be a better starting point. In the end, you must do what serves you. But, after having tried most of these pre-packaged pollutants in some form or another before, I can confidently suggest exhausting all other options.

So you don’t have to spend your tomorrows exhausted.

Whether from concealed feels or pharmaceuticals.

Flip the mattress? Or pitch it and get a new one?

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Anyone remember the Princess and the Pea story?

Of course you do. What were you raised by – wolves? Oh. You were? Okay, well allow me to recap: in the timeless tale, a princess shows up at a castle on a stormy evening, claiming she’s royalty. As a test set by the resident queen who obviously forgot her evening dose of Prozac, she must prove herself as legit by being able to tell that she’s been laying on a heap of mattresses with a legume beneath them all night. And, sure enough, her tender tendencies render her regal in the eyes of the castle folk come morning. ’cause while a mattress covered pea’s more subtle than a pee covered mattress… the minuscule difference was still enough to disrupt her rest.

Ultimately, the fairy tale princesses’ sensitivities earned her a seat in the royal court. For peons (pea-ons?) like you and I, though, a similarly restless night on a bad mattress means we’re rewarded with little more than spasms, cramps, cervical cricks, and a Frankensteinian gait by the A.M. you wish you hadn’t woken to witness.

Hardly Disney princess fodder.

“Oh god. Not this again.”

But it does make one wonder: what’s the metaphorical “pea” beneath my bedding? Long before anyone has a chance to “pea” in my Cheerios (last urinary pun, I promise), I’m already aching from soul to skin. Is it that my mattress is too old? Is it all that nookie that I never get on it? Did I buy the wrong kind in the first place?

Well, the experts seem to suggest that when your snooze cushion’s the culprit for a less-than-regal sleep, it’s indeed because of an ill pairing with your needs versus what it has to offer. Sometimes it’s because it’s seen its day (I think they say about a decade’s when you’re meant to retire it). Sometimes it’s because it’s not firm enough. Sometimes it’s because it’s not soft enough. It seems pretty obvious – the goldilocks slumber conundrum. But what may not be is what we should consider once it’s time to adopt a new one to come live under our snoozing bodies.

And where to start? Firmness, I suppose.

As far as “firmness” goes, the pros suggest “medium-firm”. And while that term’s nice and all, much like humor, it describes a subjective experience. (Anyone else here have to be told that Silence of the Lambs wasn’t a comedy? No? Moving on…) The same mattress that feels like a cube of miracle whip for a Navy SEAL might feel about a soft as concrete floor for your anorexic friend you quietly envy.

Then, of course, if you are the anorexic friend and you’re married to the SEAL, then there’s that one number bed that caters to both’a your needs without you two having to go all Lucy and Ricky five years in and let nocturnal turning and tossing cause nuptial bliss to wither.

(“No excuses for separate beds *now*, mom and dad!”
“Sure there are. Like, for example, how we fell out of love pretty soon after we made you!”)

Ten bucks says my bedmate dog would grow an opposable thumb just to use that controller.

Which we can forget about because ten bucks times about a thousand bucks is what I’d actually need for the damned thing.

(Actually, they claim you can get it for about $700 on sale… #stillabitmuchforme)

But, just for funsies, let’s look at the prices of the top recommended sleep spaceships on the market. According to some reviews, the memory foam tops the charts pretty consistently – high end being stuff like Tempur-pedic, Simmons, and Saatva (ranging from $900 to $2,200); low end budget options comprising brands like Perfect Cloud and Signature Sleep Contour (for as low as $164 – and, yes, to my surprise the testimonials look predominantly positive). If you’re more into an innerspring sponge slumber (and if you’re not me and money’s not an issue), you can adhere to the triple “S”: Sealy, Serta, and Simmons (ranging from $500-ish to roughly $2,800). If you’re more like myself, however, Signature Sleep offers queen sized models for as low as $299. And, finally, if natural latex types are your thing, it looks like the lowest priced one’s in the range of $600ish – which Ultimate Dreams offers, while the high end (Plushbed Botanical Bliss) is around $2,600 (I’m rounding up a dollar. I benefit zero hundred percent by using that $2,599-one-dollar-short mind-hack they try to use on ya).

So, there we have it. A whole mattress catalog for me to consider as options the next time I win the lottery.

I’m being sarcastic of course – a recharging chamber is an investment for your body and mind alike. And I just have to resign myself to the fact that I’ll need to nix other expenditures like matcha lattes and the spa to save up for one. (Or…. Maybe I could just flip the one I’ve got one more time…) And, in the end, the more plebeian reason for my bad back and bad sleep may not land me Prince Pea or even that one Prince Necrophile with his miraculous wake up kiss. But it will land me the delicious opposite of both: a long, non-lumpy sleep – free of projectile limbs and sleep apnea sound effects (that vex me enough to turn this fairy tale into a crime drama double fast). Besides, if being prince-eligible means being dumb enough to sleep on a tower twenty mattresses high without asking your gracious hostess why, then I’ll gladly settle for my snooze sensitivities being paired with a single, substandard existence. Bonus: I can keep whatever bedding I end up buying all for myself. And my pup.

Which I kinda prefer, seeing as I’ll be paying a princess’s ransom for it.

Thought-somnia: Is writing wrong to do before bed?

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Ever had one of those rare nights of sleeplessness… after doing everything right?

No blue light after sunset. No strange foods. You even had a nice warm mug of valerian root tea.

It’s all ticked off – the whole, well planned, nocturnal checklist.

(Foreshadowing: mayhaps writing before bed’s a less than genius move to usher in your slumber.)

So… what gives?

This happened to me a couple of nights ago. Naturally, I cursed the rare cup of coffee in which I’d indulged earlier that day. “Must’ve been the mocha,” I thought, as I tossed, turned, pinwheeled, and eventually logrolled off my mattress at 4 A.M. to begin the business of living. With zero rest under my belt. Actually, I don’t wear a belt – but if I did, I’d take it off right now and assault myself with it for not recognizing the obvious. How could it have been the coffee? I’d drunk it at 3 in the effing afternoon. It wouldn’t be till a day or two later – when I read this Quora question somebody else had asked – that I’d realize how I’d sabotaged my own sleep… by being too productive in the P.M.

“Why does my brain keep running laps?”

That was the question. Or something like it.

What someone-smarter-than-I-am piped up to remind the asker was essentially this: we’re kept awake by thought when we keep cycling through the same group of issues sans solutions to said problems. And that makes sense to me. Our brains want resolution. When we don’t attain that, it stresses us out. And stress keeps us awake, seeing as it’s this vestigial survival mechanism. (We can’t well sleep when we know there’s a tiger-dragon-velociraptor – or whatever they had back in cave days – pillaging our rock lair). So, reading this, I immediately thought back to how looped-out my own noggin’s contents were as I spent my sleeplessness skull streamrolling my pillow into a pancake. It was bad. The thoughts were constant. Just like the Quora dude said. And why?

Because I’d felt moved to write an article right before bed. Which I never do.

Now, while that may not sound like a legit explanache, lemme ‘splain. While I can’t vouch for all creative writers, for me, composition is an altered state of consciousness. An amphetamine you freebase by brainstorming. The creative state is something tantamount to traversing some unobservable line from monotony into Narnia. Once you’re in it, your senses are heightened, you’re alertness is raised, and…. the door’s disappeared. And, if you choose to do that right before sleep, then you’re sort’ve screwed. Because the other part of being a creative writer is that – if you don’t have another task following the completion of your concoction, your mind might wanna munch on the content you’ve conjured up. Plus, if you got deep into the magic mode we all aim for, you’re probably still riding a tide of momentum comprising synonyms, metaphors, and miscellaneous alliterative amalgamations. (#metamoment) You’ve been practicing dreaming up what sounds pretty for just long enough that your head’s reluctant to end it now. It’s like a loop, but almost worse, because unlike the negative loop “problem” above, the “solutions” aren’t limited – each time you cycle back around the masterpiece you’ve cephalically sired, you want to decorate it some more – like a tacky Christmas tree strangling in its own tinsel similes. And, since this is a practice you’re not only used to doing but enjoy, your own intrinsic addiction to it keeps some small part of you indulging it. Even if you don’t wake up to actually edit, you head-it, right there on the pillow, seemingly, unwillingly.

Truth is, we don’t want to let it go. We’re like insomnia masochists ‘cause we’re enjoying the brain play too much.

But you could’ve fooled me the other night.

I tried thinking of the most random, dream-like things to induce snoozery. Still, that was probably part of the problem – I was in creative mode already, so all that did was “fire meet gasoline” my plight. However, the actual solution the Quora answer suggested isn’t a far cry from what I was attempting – just a bit less effort, and a bit more “free-association”. You start with one thought only that you create, and from there on, you ride out whatever your mind decides that previous thought reminded it of. The hack goes thusly:

Here is how it works:
1. think about any word;
2. think about any word related to the previous word, but not the word you thought about before;
3. repeat step 2.

Example:
Barcelona – Spain – flamenco – dancing – tango – Buenos Aires – steak – pasture – grass – drugs – war – fog – water – cloud – blue – Miles – Black Panthers – boogie – movie – Bogart – Morocco – mint – tea – zzzzzzzzzz

A few loose rules
• do not try too hard (do not pause to think);
• avoid using the same word more than once (if you do, choose different association for the next word);
• do not try to make sense — free-associate.
– Quora Dude

Genius. But, admittedly, free association’ll be my toughest challenge.

My cerebral commentary’s ceaseless and senseless. Esp. mid-insomnia.

The reason this makes so much sense to me, though, is that it’s identical to the slalom course my head travels as it sets sail for shut-eye island. I recognize it. It’s that “six degrees of Kevin Bacon” game your brain plays as you drift off. All those nights where I jolt awake just before I fall into the unconsciousness abyss (wondering why I was dreaming of slow dancing with ducks that have people eyes and unwelcome life advice to issue me), I reflect on how I got there. And, nearly always, it’s because of some thought I had right before letting go of my wakeful reigns – one that was ten to twenty stepping stone ideas away from said strange avian tango.

So, there we go. I’d say I’ve learned my lesson and that I won’t be doing my scribble sorcery in the evenings anymore, but we all know how addicts are. What I will say is this, though: homeboy from Quora rocks for gifting me this insight on how to hack my own think-meat. ’cause I’m definitely trying this out next night sleep’s being a tease.

And if I don’t wrap this up soon, that may very well be tonight.

Sweet dreams, you creative masochists.

What’s better than a siesta?

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What’s better than the midday nap with a sombrero over your face?

Nada, right?

Why shouldn’t we take a siesta? I mean, Churchill used to catch some Z’s mid biz-day.

He worked from bed in the morning, his study at night, and spent QT with the fam in the middle of the day (during which he enjoyed three course dining before throwing up his signature peace sign at being awake till evening when he returned to aforementioned study).But a catnap – or gorging at lunchtime for that matter – isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. (Plus, I’m led to believe Mr. C. didn’t have the best health – but that may’ve been cuzza some of his other bad habits.)

So… could we improve on the idea of siesta? Especially when we exist in a culture and society that doesn’t make much room for it (if you’re a 9 to 5er)? I mean, for many of us, we couldn’t nap even if we had a full lunch hour. I dunno about you, but I have trouble forcing myself to sleep on command – especially when I know there’s such little time to allow quality rest. Plus, I tend to think the whole idea of a siesta is to have that extra couple’ve hours for both the meal and the nap. So the American attempt to mimic siesta time goes out the window when your seemingly oh-so-generous sixty minute reprieve from work falls short of sufficient; you can either eat or sleep, but not both. So, if we can’t force-quit our brains, we can’t manifest more time, and we’re unwilling to change our whole careers in order to allow for a siesta block which might make us happier… what can we do?

Mimic sleep, I’d think.

I mean – mimic its positive effects.

It dawned on me recently that many of our society’s most successful (which I define as both supporting yourself on a money and merriment level) folk tend to find that happy medium for their midday break. A compromise with the concept of an REM recess. Some sort of activity that sits between “turning off” onto a pillow versus simply powering through till 5, 6, or 7 P.M. (by filling up your I.V. bag with another venti redeye.)

And what’s that?

Well, studies have shown that the type of brain waves and hormones educed during yoga, meditation, music listening, or sometimes even just a jaunt in nature (any of the plethora of rejuvenating practices that “unplug” us from work or technology mode) are often the same effing waves we get when in deep sleep. They refresh us. Recalibrate us. Put our fragmented thoughts back together. Lower stress. Or, if stress reduction and brain-reframing is your main aim, you might do what some of the other greats do: spend lunch making a new connection or hitting the gym. (Note that none of this list includes the masturbatory mental loops that Youtube videos starring animals provide). So, could this be why successful people are so successful? Not that they power through lunch – but that they spend what little downtime they have reveling in restful awareness or stress reduction of some sort? So they can badass through the rest of the day?

“Companies including Google, The Huffington Post and HubSpot realize the power of naps and go so far as to install napping pods and hammocks in dedicated nap spaces. Just 20 minutes of rest or meditation in the afternoon can recharge you for the rest of the day.”

“But that’s when I play ‘catch up’,” you might be saying.

Well, why not do that in the morning instead? You see, one of the reasons a siesta happens at all in other countries is reportedly because they wake up earlier. When you do that, you can fit more productivity into your day during the A.M. hours and allow room for that afternoon whatever-ness before you cap off the day with a tad more work. And, believe it or not, that’s another thing – other than happiness – that peeps about that siesta life have in common with successful folk. While perusing through a Quora post not long ago, I came across a list that showed how prematurely the Zuckerbergs of the world depart their pillows each sunrise. The latest time I could find? Circa 6 or 7 A.M.. They get up early to get shiz done, and then – you guessed it – spend their lunch doing something that puts their brain train back on a steady track so they can go back to the grind fresh later. The bonus? You don’t need to spend three hours Om’ing or Downward Dogging to get similar benefits… which means you also don’t have to work late into the P.M. like a British PM does after a three course meal.

In sum, if you can squeeze a siesta into your workday, fantastic.

But if that’s too extreme for you, try mimicking rest’s effects the way winners with window offices do.

So that you don’t have to mimic wakefulness later.

You’re waking up at 3 A.M. because: aliens.

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Not really.

But… really: what’s with the witching hour wakeup?

Sounds legit. But let’s review some options that apply to reality ‘n stuff. What’s the deal here? I don’t mean those nights when my pup starts pitching a fit and demanding a middle-of-the-night potty jaunt outside. I mean that other phenomenon. The one that happens when your body decides circa 1:00 or 3:00 A.M. that it’s time for a random rise and shine? No crazy sounds to wake you up. No blue lights messing with your melatonin. Just this totally random feeling where your eyes pop open and you feel half disoriented and half like you’ve suddenly surfaced from a body of water after running out of oxygen. I’ve long wondered why this happens. (But I suppose I didn’t wonder too much because it wasn’t until the past couple of years that I actually went fishing in the search engine sea for the answer.) And what’d I reel in for the reason behind this mysterious murderer of a good night’s rest? Why is my body alarm bell sounding off so damned early?

Low blood sugar, says science.

(Considerably less intriguing than a voyeur monster, but I’ll bite.)

Apparently, hypoglycemia is the top reason sleep specialists report for their patients who complain about this same problem I have. They eat too early, go to bed with cobwebs above their bowels, and awake hours later wondering why. The answer? When the sugar in our blood plummets, we pump extra cortisol (stress hormone) from our adrenal glands. And because it’s a stress hormone, that signals an alarm more annoying than your iphone’s (which I’ve changed fifty times because I’ve come to hate each equally by virtue of what they collectively signify).

Geez. There’s no pleasing this snoozing flesh vessel I’m doomed to live in for presumably another fifty years.

I mean, if I eat too late, my brain will terrorize me with narratives fit for a snuff film. But the alternative’s no better. If I have an early meal of supper be my last of the day, my body will go Judas on me and send me vertically upright five hours before the alarm, like some black and white Dracula ascending stiffly outta the casket. The answer? A small snack before hitting the sack, is what some suggest. And when we say “small”, we’re meant to also acknowledge the sugar content. Because if you Dyson down Dunkin’ Donuts right before setting sail for Sleepsville, you can expect that tsunami sized wave of blood sugar you rode in on to disintegrate mid-trip. And send a phantom Pulp Fiction needle into your sternum right around 2 or 3.

So, what are some good pre-pillow snacks?

To avoid that glucose collapse, experts suggest also avoiding simple carbs or sugar infused snacks.

(Yes, even fruit #singleteardrop).

But the alternatives aren’t terrible.

For instance, you might try a slice of whole wheat bread with peanut butter, some soup, veggies, and hummus.

Want something more snack-like? Try stuff from the legume family – like chick peas, beans, and nuts.

(No wonder homeboy kept having all those horrifying nightmares this season.)

That’s all well and good. But seeing as I’ve got the Pringle problem (“Once you pop, you pitch a middle finger at any willingness to enact self-control…”) with anything in the snack family – healthy or not – I might try another route. One that’s a happy medium between habit forming snacking and Louie’s diet – comprising the table contents of a fat kid’s birthday party. I’m thinking some evening soy chai might hit the spot. (Soy comes from a bean; so I’m totally counting it as the legume requirement.) It’s not heavy enough to vex my viscera and send me to Elm Street (see: nightmare blog), but has just enough sugar to keep my lids glued together till the alarm goes off.

Or the fanged spacemen come for you.

Do specific pre-sleep snacks give you nightmares?

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So…. we’ve discussed foods that can help you sleep peacefully.

What about the ones that do the opposite?

Are there foods that can give you nightmares?

Before Cosby played sausage sandwich with unwilling womenfolk, he played someone feeding actual sausage sandwiches to his own unwilling gut. (Or maybe it was at the same time. Who knows. Moving on.) Anyone remember that episode? With Dr. Huxtable and the muppet nightmare? ‘cause of the bedtime hoagie he’d eaten? Despite his wife’s warnings, the doc noshed the greasy meat squeezed between bread right before bed. And, as a result, he had nightmares starring antagonistic Henson creatures.

But was it the sandwich specifically that doomed the doc’s dreamtime?

Experts suggest it’s not necessarily specific foods that give us bad dreams – so much as when we’re eating them and how well our gastro tracts get along with them. While pre dreamtime dietary choices can have a massive impact on the nature of our subconscious eyelid movies, it’s generally just eating too late at all that’ll cause our puppy dog tails and candy cloud dreams to turn Krueger on us. Why? In order to go through all of the parts of the sleep cycle, our brain needs its normal blood supply. That, then, may become difficult if your life fuel’s suddenly being summoned south for sustenance sorting. (Same reason we get cognitive fog and the early afternoon slump right after lunch.) Also, the tendency for reflux to happen is higher if you opt to go horizontal directly following chomp o’ clock. (Re*flux: noun; that one thing that feels like a fatal heart attack, isn’t, but you almost wish was because then at least you’d know the pain is ending soon.) The thing about reflux is that even if you do fall asleep before it hits, once your viscera starts trying to push everything back out the entry, it stresses out your body. Sometimes it might make you wake up in a breathless sweat, clutching your chest. Sometimes it might just translate to a series of Lynch-meets-Stephen-King dreams. (TBH, neither sounds worth downing a massive falafel during flannel jammies time.)

In sum, eating any kind of food heavily and too late in the evening will probably cause a ship wake of choppy water in what could’ve been a peaceful delta wave float sesh. However, there is a concession to your P.M. concession stand obsession. Because specific foods can indeed potentially exacerbate the sitch. For instance, if your late night snack has a tendency to disagree with you anyway (but you’re both a glutton and a glutton for punishment so you eat it on the regular anyway), then the body chaos becomes two-fold. Same applies if it’s a too-sugary snack (see the next article on why). Not only is your blood supply busy processing the bowel bound bolus mound you threw down there before hitting the pillow, but your stress hormones are also increasing as your innards rebel against the familiar food foe. And that unsavory series of ingredients can cook up a Wes Craven level brain feature. Or just wake you up and propel you into insomnia – which’ll make your day tomorrow a nightmare as well.

“Don’t say that it looks like his face. Don’t say that it looks like his face. Don’t-…”

So, how do you avoid a haywire mind when you hit the hay?

I’d say a good rule of thumb might be to settle for a thumb (or palm) sized snack that’s benign before bed.

Or else risk some nightmares of your own. Probably starring Mr. Cosby. And his talking roofie sammich.

Waking life: are there benefits to lucid dreaming?

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Ever tried to lucid dream?

I’ve long been interested in this topic – but, alas, I suck at managing dream manipulation.

From hypnosis and binaural beats to diligently taking notes on that rotoscope film, “Waking Life”, I’m pretty sure I’ve tried it all. And, don’t get me wrong. The tools I’ve attempted have all made for some pleasant subconscious experiences. However, I’ve yet to make that crucial connection while in my altered state where I realize, “This isn’t real! I can eat this campfire like it’s a birthday cake!”

At least, that’s what this one chick, Beverly D’Ursu, did who became famed for lucid dreaming.

Actually, if we’re being honest, it wasn’t really her fire eating or flying to the sun on her snooze holidays that made her well-known in the LD community. What was? Sex, of course. Specifically – naptime nookie with a literal “man of her dreams”. One who she approached after swooping down from the sky where she had been enjoying a nice afternoon flight, obviously. (That actually sounds like an optimal way to start trolling for tail IRL. That way, if they reject you, you can just beam yourself vertically upward and save yourself the shame strut as you depart.) From Beverly’s imaginarium, however, there’d be no rejection from her manly vision who she invited into her astral body. He complied, she says, right there in public. The most fun part? That they actually documented all of the brain activity to confirm it – with nether electrodes and all. Yes, ladies and gents. First recorded lucid dream-gasm award goes to Miss Beverly.

Alright, so dream sex sounds fun. But are there other benefits to lucid dreaming?

Apparently, yes. There are no rules. You can walk on the sun like Beverly did, or you can travel to other times and dimensions. You can meet your heroes and celebrity crushes (and, as we’ve discussed, bed them from your bed, too). You can fly. You can construct dream scenarios ahead of time and then Wes Anderson it to life frame by perfect little Bill Murray filled frame. But it’s good for more than just recreational R.E.M.’ing. LD-ers have also credited the practice with solving their smorgasbord of brain born assailants that accost them on a daily basis. In fact, reports have been made claiming that lucid dreaming can do everything from karate chopping your writer’s block and honing physical activity skills to overcoming irrational fears, anxieties, and PTSD.

(Now do you see why I’m trying so hard?)

But maybe that’s my problem. They do say that trying too hard can be counterproductive.

So then how do I do it? Where’m I going wrong here?

Mmmright. That’s great advice an’ all, but can you like… put it in, ya know, intelligible language?

Well, a few tips I just found suggest that you keep a dream journal (too lazy), affirm that you’ll lucid dream before you fall asleep (which I never remember to do), meditate (you’d think – as much as I do that – the dream gods’d throw me a frickin’ bone), and to do reality checks – which is looking around your mind manifested landscape to notice things that aren’t real so you can make yourself aware you’re not awake. They say to keep some object you can “check” on while you’re awake (I think that’s what they did in “Inception”, too, right?), so that you can check for it while you’re dreaming. If, one day, you do this check and your pocket watch starts suddenly reciting Edgar Allan Poe poems instead of giving you the time, then you know you’re in le Matrix. (Or that you shouldn’t’ve eaten those mushrooms your roomie gave you.)

Yes – those “reality checks”. I never do that. But… I think I’m starting to know why: dream me is smarter than awake me. See, I have so many “this is too weird – must be a dream” things happening to me all day long in reality. So dream me knows that if I eat fire or proposition a stranger for sex, there’s a good chance it’ll end up being real. And I’ll just end up burning.

(Or with burning pee.)

Yeah… maybe I’ll leave this one to the Beverly’s of the world.

What did we learn from the Russian Sleep Experiment?

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Anyone here ever hear of the… Russian Sleep Experiment?

*Shines flashlight creepily upward under chin*

Oooh… mystery mists that drive you crazy?

Getting possessed by the sleep deprivation devil?

Unfortunately, now that I’ve gotten you all excited, I also have to be the one to tell you:

It ain’t true.

Yep. It’s a myth. A believable one (that they’d do the experiment at all – I mean – not that everyone turned into Gollum), given all the equally stuff that actually went down in that era – but a myth, no less. I know, I know. It’s tough because we like to believe in the possibility of verge-of-supernatural things happening. It makes our lives less boring. So, yes, I was upset too. However, I tried my hardest to get over the shock about this lie I’d just been told (since it’s so unlike the internet to do something like that to us) and find some truth in it. How? By asking a related question: well, what if you kept someone awake for fifteen days?

Now, though I went full throttle on my Googler-mobile, I couldn’t seem to spot a comparable tale.

But what I did find was what happens when you stay awake for eleven days.

Because a high schooler called Randy Gardner actually tested the theory back in the 60’s (when kids could still think outside some app-infused box sitting in the palm of their hands). The reason? Just to see what’d happen to his brain and bod. I think what makes this next-level badass of him is that he did it over the course of his winter break. While many of us have just spent all of our winter holidays voluntarily putting ourselves into food induced comas, this kid was doing the total opposite by staging an experiment out of school – with his own mind and the meat puppet it lived in as the laboratory.

So what happened?

Well, after the first day of no sleep, Randy found focus to be an issue.

When handed familiar objects, it took him a bit of extra effort to recognize them (I do that anyway most mornings when I put my tea in the cupboard and look for the reheat button – not that unexpected). And day three of the experiment wasn’t that much more surprising: he was becoming a bit moody and mad at his pals (I wonder if he tried throwing dishware at the wall. Always soothes my soul) and a bit confused. To be fair, though, some of the tests they did to confirm his confusion were a bit unreasonable. Like, who here can do the “Peter Piper picked a pecker” tongue twister effectively on a full night of sleep? Oh, what – I’m the only one who can’t?

Liars…

Moving on.

Because it was the next day that shiz started to get interesting.

Around day four, Randy began having hallucinations and delusions. He was so far down the slumber bereft rabbit hole that he mistook traffic signs for people and even came to believe he was some famous dude who played for the San Diego Chargers. (TBH, this sounds more fun than a buncha satanic Soviets if you ask me.)

So, what did we learn from Randy Gardner in the end? Well, not very much – except that lack of sleep won’t necessarily kill you (unless, ya know, a school of sirens summons you with song into a wood chipper or something during your hallucination phase). Mostly, it’ll just dampen your sanity, temporarily, and maybe cost you a few relationships when you morph into a moody douche. Other than that, Mr. Gardner went on to live a perfectly normal and happy life. (After a fifteen hour nap at a hospital).

In sum: nada fascinatingly demonic was educed from Randy as a result of his sleep deprivation.

But if it makes you feel any better…

I can promise the portals of hell would’ve opened by day one had I been the test subject.