By Lisa Timpf
It was 10:30 p.m. on December 18, and I was desperate.
Sleep had grown more and more elusive as I aged. In my teenage years, I often dropped into dreamland as soon as my head hit the pillow. These days, I tossed and turned while the digital clock rolled through the hours.
Tonight, despite being comfortably weighted down by the quilt my mother had made, I realized sleep was planning to play hide-and-seek with me again. The gentle snoring rising up from the dog’s bed didn’t improve my mood.
Time for something different.
I’d recently read about an exercise for relaxing and getting in touch with oneself. The exercise emphasized the importance of body awareness, or interception, as they’d called it. Maybe if I figured out which parts were keeping me from sleeping and resolved their issues, I could get some shuteye.
The exercise began with some breath-counting exercises. With those completed, it was time for the moment of truth.
“Okay, everybody, I’m listening.” I whispered, so as not to disturb the dog.
Just when I figured nobody was going to take the bait, I heard a sharp, no-nonsense voice. “I’m itchy.”
The voice emanated from my right elbow.
Wow! That really worked!
I ran the fingers of my left hand over my right elbow, encountering some bumpy patches. Hmmm. Dry skin. “We can fix that.” I reached over, grabbed the lotion from the bedside table, and rubbed a generous dose of soothing cream into both elbows. Then I replaced the bottle on the nightstand and settled back in. Some of the tension had oozed from my body already. Who knew it would be so easy?
“Not so fast.” My brain spoke with a dry, sarcastic tone.
“Hey, I’m trying to get in touch with my body,” I protested.
“Am I not part of your body?” I couldn’t argue with that logic. “Do you know how many tasks you didn’t get to today? A dozen, at least!”
“I’ve noted them for tomorrow.”
“Maybe you’d like me to itemize them for you now.”
“No, thanks.”
A heady voice jumped in. “Hey, it’s your skull. This pillow feels lumpy.”
“Fine.” I leaned up on one elbow, fluffed up the pillow, and then flopped back into position. “Is that better?”
“Marginally.”
My stomach grumbled, “Why did you eat so late? You know how I hate that. Tell me one reason I shouldn’t make you pay.”
Before I could answer, my shoulder nudged in. “Remember all those years of playing sports? I took all those hits in broomball. Endured those softball practices. No, don’t bother changing position. The pain won’t get any better. This’s just my form of revenge.”
Next, a sinister whisper. “Hey, it’s me, the growth on your shoulder. Are you sure I’m not a form of melanoma? Maybe you should get me checked out.”
“At this time of night? I’ll make an appointment later this week.”
Near the foot of the bed, my toes waded into the conversation. “What’s the deal with those winter boots you just bought? They’re pinchy.”
I frowned. “Sorry. They felt good in the store.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” my bladder advised. “Maybe you should go one more time, before you fall asleep. C’mon, admit it, now that I’ve put the idea in your head, it’s all you’ll think about. You might as well get it over with.”
“Is that you, bladder? You’re always causing problems!” My brain, again.
Toes, head, shoulders, stomach, and elbows joined in. New voices entered the fray. Though bladder served as the initial target, soon they were all fighting with each other about whose issues were more important.
I put my hands over my ears, who promptly protested, “Hey! I want to hear this!”
Well, I’d asked for it. I wanted to get in touch with my body, and here I was.
But my bladder was right. I might as well go, now I was thinking of it.
As I padded to the bathroom, I remembered the Reader’s Digest articles back in the day, with titles like “I Am Joe’s Brain,” and “I Am Joe’s Kidneys.” The articles provided first-person facts about each featured body part.
After a few years, the articles stopped. I’d always wondered why. Now I knew. Whoever wrote them probably got tired of talking to self-centered organs that wouldn’t stop rambling on and on about their own problems.
As I washed my hands, the night light provided just enough illumination to study my haggard face. The way this night was shaping up, those dark shadows under my eyes wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
There was only one thing to do.
When I settled back under the blankets, I let them have it. “Okay, everyone, I appreciate hearing your opinions, but for now, I think I’ll take my chances counting sheep instead.”
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