Rage at 3:15AM

My eyelids open, though the room persists its shroud of darkness. A thought interrupts me, “What was the name of the actor that played Eddie Winslow on Family Matters?”. My brow furrows, and I look at the time.

Ah, yes. It’s 3:15 in the morning, my old nemesis.

I turn onto my other side, hoping the peace of sleep with quickly resume, but I can already feel that I’m going to be awake for a while. The question is always “How long?”. Will I pop some headphones in and resume a frequent ritual of listening to a Non-sleep deep rest (NSDR) session, in hopes that slow breathing and mental attention to various parts of my body will slide me back into sleep?

Thoughts interrupt again, “Wait, who was the actor that played Theo Huxtable on the Cosby Show?”. Why? Whyyyyyy, brain, must you do this to me. We both know how important these hours are to both of us.

I put on the NSDR recording. I can already feel it won’t help tonight. Angst is already rising. Such emotions only arise after a string of nights like this.

I attempt to read some on my Kindle (dark mode obvs), I’m not a novice at sleep hygiene. I already have a book that is not too interesting, one that I’m not actually invested in. Don’t want it to take my attention hostage. Just interesting enough that I’ll keep reading for a bit, hoping that my eyes will become heavy, and rejoice in the light burden of drowsyness.

No luck. The rage has found a foothold.

I feel it in my body, this frustration building up over many nights of sleep lost.

It’s always 3 in the morning.

Why is it always 3 in the morning?

(More like 3:00-3:15; recently it’s often been 3:11)

“What did I do wrong this time?” I go through the mental checklist, but adding insult to injury it’s not enough to suffer the lost sleep, for some reason I’ve assumed the guilt of it as well. As though it’s my fault. (How ridiculous)

I’m nearly puritanical about the hygiene at this points, but sometimes none of it seems to matter. 3 AM will prod me awake, rudely making itself more important than all the recovery that sleep provides.

It’s 5:30. Nothing has worked.

I’m resigned to the morning. Maybe if I punish my body with an extra strenuous workout, my body will be so tired for the next night, that maybe just maybe sleep will be uninterrupted this next time.

I put on the cold weather biking clothes. It’s 30 degrees in the garage. I slam out a workout on the bike trainer for nearly 2 hours.

Let’s hope it’s enough.