Beauty Sleep’s Unattractive Side

These past few weeks, I’ve slept like a drugged woman. That hardcore, REM-heavy sleep. Is it the reduced caffeine intake? Is my thyroid back on strike? Has someone been slipping sedatives into my jasmine tea?

I’m pretty sure the insomnia/hyposomnia will return, at least on a freelance schedule. Part of me misses it very much. Contrary to what the experts and their studies may suggest, the extra sleep has not curbed my appetite, nor has it improved my attention span, complexion, or creative juices. If anything, I’m more apathetic about what anyone says or does, and apathy is one of the worst attributes out there. An apathetic person is as atrocious as that person who constantly plays the role of devil’s advocate. (You know the type: You and your party will be seated around a table. When someone mentions Shaker Heights, Ohio or Newton, Massachusetts, you’ll say that everyone has an ex or an old family friend or a former roommate from Shaker Heights or Newton. Six out of the seven others will nod or chuckle on cue – until the Menace-to-the-Merriment suddenly says, “I’ve never known anyone from Shaker Heights or Newton,” in a hella self-righteous or put-out tone.)

REM sleep brings out the big dreams. In my waking life I’m more of a doer than a dreamer, which could be why I look down on sleep-mode dreams, good or bad. It’s obvious why the bad dreams suck. With the good dreams, when I wake up, I’m sad they weren’t real. This week, I’ve had nerve-wracking dreams about several specific people and situations. I minored in psych and have taken a dream-interpretation pseudo-seminar, so I generally understand what they mean. I half-wish I didn’t.

I also recently dreamed about getting an insane amount of backlash for wearing the suede clogs I haven’t worn since the late ‘90s, but have considered adding to my hostesswear collection this fall. Years ago, I had a dream about a co-worker of mine going on an assault-rifle rampage during a staff meeting. The next day, there was an office shooting in St. Louis. That’s why I’m now more cautious about putting on the clogs.