Sleeping with me is not easy. I’ve had difficulty, of late, tossing and turning the whole night through. I flip, an unmeasured number of times through the night, always to my left. I become a spool for the covers, winding them over me and sometimes, onto the floor. For Mark, this is not always a problem, as he gets hot with too many covers. It’s cold at night, though, and he’d prefer to keep the covers I turn and roll away from him while he sleeps.

He said, “You can’t sleep because you’re not working.” We’ve been given this week to rest and refresh, the whole office in various non-work pursuits. “You lack direction; your days have no purpose.” He’s right, of course. And as I stare into the dark, looking for ways to lull myself to sleep, I shut down thoughts of work as soon as they appear.

Tired doesn’t help, as I have tried staying up late and working on household stuff through the day. I’ve been reading, shopping, entertaining kids, cooking and numbing myself with television and movies. I’m starting to believe work will restore my ritual, will result in nights of blissful slumber and indeed, a more refreshed me. Why can I not just enjoy the deserved break?

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