Around 4:30 this morning, I woke to use the bathroom and found my mind awake with a brilliant blog in the making. However, by the time I went back to bed, a few minutes later, my mind now fully engaged had tossed the blog away and focused on other, non-related, nonsensical matters. No matter how hard I tried to get back to dreamland, my mind wouldn’t allow the privilege. So fast forward eight to ten hours later and I wish I had that clarity again. Instead, I’m groggy and ready to take a nap.
One thing is sure, I can chalk most of the above bout with insomnia on my ever-fluctuating hormones. Yes, being of a certain age has many advantages, yet sometimes they pale in comparison when your body decides your temperature gauge is broken. Yesterday, my family found humor every time I shed my sweatshirt, only to put it back on ten minutes later. “Is there a window open? I feel a draft.” I asked, before checking the dormer door in search of a nonexistent draft. To my husband’s credit, or maybe out of sheer fear for his life, he answered me quietly by shaking his head “no”, while his daughter chuckled to herself on the couch. Then like clockwork, twenty minutes later, the sweatshirt was shed once more as sweat began to trickle off my brow. All of which would have been easy to understand had I actually exerted some energy or stepped outside into the wind to produce these changing tides instead of sitting pat on the sofa.
Now I realize I am not the first person to ever experience these personal summer and winter temperature changes, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. On the other hand, I suppose there are worst ways of getting older.
Looking on the brightside maybe I’ll even save some money. I mean seriously, who needs to go on a vacation when you have your own personal summers and winters to carry you through–several times a day?