Bed-ridden Blues

(I actually composed this yesterday, which means I spent Tuesday in bed. My wireless connection started playing games with me last night, and I couldn't post it till today).

Yesterday, I gave in to a wrenched back I got dancing last week (that's what I get for trying to keep up with twenty-somethings), and I decided to spend the day in bed. (I can't think of a way to link this to telecommuting, except to talk about how I refuse to bring my laptop to bed, but I don't want to do that, so I've decided not to try to make a connection between the two.) It worked, because I'm feeling much better, but it was absolute hell. I don't know why I can't seem to remember, everytime I decide to spend a day in bed due to illness or injury, that I can't stand to be bed-ridden. Hammock-ridden with a bottomless gin and tonic, maybe, but bed-ridden, no.

My aversion to beds probably has all kinds of psychological roots. First of all, I was made to take naps until I was practically of driving age. I now understand that this was probably due to my poor mother-of-four's need for a break every day after lunch, but I wasn't the least bit empathetic at the time. A hyperactive five-year-old, who’s spent the morning being intimidated by far-more hyperactive classmates, just isn’t going to sleep. My “naptimes” were typically spent in the most creative play, turning my stuffed animals into dastardly Snakes and Ladders and Old Maid opponents. My mother’s obsession with sleep was obviously quite strong. Going to bed before dark was another pre-driving-age staple in our house. My younger brother and I spent many hours making up spy games and practicing our gymnastics techniques on our mattresses and headboards long after we’d been put to bed.

By the time I was thirteen, my mother’s sleep obsession had become contagious. Being quite impressionable, I’d read somewhere (probably in my health textbook, because I was also obsessed with reading about diseases. Health classes should be banned on the basis that they encourage budding hypochondriacs) that teenagers need lots of sleep. Also, I was hoping it might be true, and that getting plenty of rest might encourage the beauty that had eluded me thus far in life. I was determined to get 8-10 hours of sleep every night (not an easy task when one has to catch the school bus at 6:30 a.m.). Naturally, insomnia set in with a vengeance.

I’ve suffered from insomnia on and off ever since, which is not surprising when one has grown up associating her bed with games and trampolines (which is why I won’t bring my laptop to bed). It’s also not surprising, because I classify myself as a “night owl,” someone who would rather go to bed at 2:00 a.m. and sleep until 10:00 a.m., living in a society that doesn’t allow for that. Add to this the fact that “Worry” is my middle name. One thing I’ve discovered, though, is that since I started working from home, my insomnia has abated somewhat. So, here's one positive thing I can say about telecommuting to refute all those naysayers whose opinions I was reading the other day: if you suffer from insomnia, telecommuting may be the cure. Hmmm...seems I've made that connection between being bed-ridden and telecommuting after all. (Jung would be so proud.)