Alright, here we are again. It’s 4 AM, and I’m sitting here with a lukewarm mug of herbal tea because I was under the delusion that “Sleepy Time” would actually make me sleepy. It’s clearly doing jack-all, just like my circadian rhythm these days. I went to bed at 9:30 PM—9:30! The responsible, adult thing to do, right? And for a hot second, I thought I had it figured out. I was in dreamland until, oh, a solid 11:45 PM, when my body decided, “That’s enough for tonight. Rise and shine, sucker!” Now, I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling, and trying not to scream.
The Big Lie: “You Just Need to Go to Bed Earlier”
Everyone keeps saying, “You just need to go to bed earlier, Evelyn.” I tried that. I’ve been going to bed earlier, but what’s the point when my body treats it like a pre-dinner nap? Seriously, it’s like my brain said, “Wow, what a refreshing two-hour snooze. Time to wake up and face the day!” Except it’s pitch black outside, and the only thing waiting for me is another bout of insomnia-fueled frustration.
I’m Sure There’s a Sleep Gremlin Messing With Me
You know what I think? I think there’s a goddamn sleep gremlin out there, messing with my internal clock like it’s a bloody Rubik’s Cube. One night, it’s a full eight hours—rare, beautiful, like spotting a unicorn in the wild. The next? It’s two hours and a jolt awake, like I’ve just been splashed with a bucket of ice water. It’s all nonsense, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m cursed. Maybe it’s menopause, maybe it’s stress, or maybe the universe just has it out for me.
Hot Flashes: The Ultimate Bedtime Interrupter
I know part of this mess is my good old menopausal hot flashes. God forbid I stay at a consistent temperature for more than ten minutes! One minute, I’m buried under the duvet like a cozy hibernating bear, and the next I’m throwing it off like it’s doused in flames. There’s no middle ground—just freezing and roasting on a rotating schedule that’s about as reliable as a politician’s promise. It’s like my internal thermostat got hijacked by a sadist who thinks this is all a great joke.
The Sympathetic (But Annoying) Advice Givers
Now, bless everyone’s heart who’s tried to “help” me with my sleep problems. But if one more person suggests “Have you tried melatonin?” I might lose it. Listen, I’ve tried melatonin, chamomile, magnesium, lavender spray, the works. I’ve got a whole arsenal of sleep aids that could probably knock out a bear, but my body seems immune to all of them. It’s like my brain takes one look at melatonin and goes, “Nice try, sucker,” before cranking up the anxiety dial to eleven.
And don’t even get me started on the classic “Just relax and don’t think about it.” Oh, really? Just relax, huh? Why didn’t I think of that before? Let me just tell my overactive, menopause-fueled, anxiety-ridden brain to chill out. Spoiler: It doesn’t work. It’s like telling a cat not to knock stuff off the counter. Pointless.
3 AM: The Time of Deep Thoughts and Bad Decisions
Here’s the thing about waking up at 11:45 PM and being wide awake at 3 AM—your brain gets…weird. This is the hour when I have the most productive thoughts about absolutely nothing useful. Suddenly, I’m obsessing over things like, “What did that one person mean by that comment three years ago?” or “Should I really be using a different kind of toothpaste?” And then there’s my favorite 3 AM specialty: deciding that it’s the perfect time to rearrange my entire life plan. Should I move to Mexico now? Quit my job? Start a podcast about sleep struggles? My brain goes from zero to existential crisis faster than I can say “REM cycle.”
And don’t get me started on the shopping temptation at this hour. I’m one more sleepless night away from buying a $500 “guaranteed sleep improvement” pillow I saw in a midnight infomercial. I’m convinced they target desperate insomniacs like me, because honestly, at 4 AM, anything sounds reasonable.
The Loneliness of the 4 AM Club
Here’s another thing they don’t tell you: waking up in the middle of the night is lonely as hell. The house is dead silent, and it’s just me, the ticking clock, and my increasingly desperate Google searches for “ways to fall back asleep at 4 AM.” Let me tell you, I’ve tried them all.
The Half-Asleep Zombie Zone
Around 5 AM, if I’m lucky, I might drift off again for what can only be described as “half-sleep.” This is where I’m not truly asleep but I’m not fully awake either—more like a state of weird, fragmented dreams that make no sense. It’s the kind of sleep where I wake up feeling even more exhausted, like my body just couldn’t be bothered to do a proper job of resting. It’s like sleep showed up, shrugged, and said, “Good enough, I guess,” before clocking out early.
Then, of course, the alarm goes off at 5 AM, and it’s like being slapped awake by reality. The world expects me to function like a responsible adult on two and a half hours of coherent sleep. Sure, why not? Who needs a functioning brain when there’s coffee?
The Endless Search for a Fix
Now, because I’m a glutton for punishment (and maybe a tiny bit hopeful), I keep looking for a magical fix. Maybe if I try this new pillow, or that fancy sleep mask, or this breathing technique that’s supposedly “life-changing,” I’ll get a full night’s sleep. I’m practically a walking sleep experiment, but so far, the only thing I’ve perfected is the art of being tired and cranky the next day.
Laughing (and Swearing) Through the Struggle
At this point, I’ve accepted that sleep and I are in a toxic, love-hate relationship. We’ve got good nights, sure, but they’re rare, and I’ve stopped expecting them. So instead of getting bitter (okay, more bitter), I’m trying to find the humor in it. Like, isn’t it hilarious that my body decided to wake up at 11:45 PM and stay awake until the sun comes up? No? Just me? Well, whatever. Sometimes, you’ve just got to laugh so you don’t cry. Or in my case, laugh and swear—a lot.
So here I am, dear readers, typing this at a ridiculous hour because, apparently, insomnia is my new muse. If any of you are also part of the 4 AM club, welcome. We’ve got herbal tea that doesn’t work, random anxiety spirals, and a shared sense of sleepless solidarity. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll eventually find a way to actually sleep through the damn night. Until then, I’ll keep documenting this ridiculous journey with all the humor and cursing it deserves.
In solidarity and strength (and sleep deprivation),
Evelyn.