Insomnia

It is 3:00 a.m.

Usually I sleep through thunder storms, but not this morning apparently. It isn't even all that loud, the rain not all that torrential, so perhaps I can't really fault the weather for rousing me from what must have not been a terribly deep sleep in the first place.

I've had enough experience with insomnia over the years to know that it is best not to fight it, not to curse the wakefulness and my inability to return to slumber, not to imbibe various potions or shots of slivovitz to trick my body and brain into sleep. They say that what you resist persists, and that seems to be very much the case with me and insomnia. Perhaps I began this blog just in time to have something to do while I wait for sleepiness to return.

The rain is a relief from the humid and hot weather that we've had and that we're supposed to get in the next few days, although perhaps the forecast has changed. I don't pay attention to the meteorologists, who in New England are incorrect much more than half of the time, but enough people I know still listen to weather reports and feel compelled to share the bad news ("It's going to be in the 90s next week!") that, like it or not, I am somewhat tuned in. Given the aforementioned inaccuracies, what I'm really tuned into is everyone's feelings (from marvel to annoyance) at the anticipated weather, rather than the forecast itself. Frankly, I'd rather not know what is coming, preferring to keep in my car my New England weather gear - a fleece, a Goretex shell, an umbrella, hat and gloves - so that I'm prepared for whatever ends up happening. As the old adage goes, if you don't like the weather in New England, wait five minutes.

The rain is a relief from the tyranny of summer, the collective expectation that when the weather is hot and sunny, one "should" be outside and enjoying oneself, that it is a shame to "waste" it by being indoors. I do enjoy sunshine and moderately warm temperatures but resent having to treat them as scarce commodities who trump whatever else I might have planned for a particular day. I prefer to think that there will be an abundance of sun and warmth throughout the rest of my life, that I don't need to treat each hot day as if it is my last opportunity to absorb Vitamin D. Maybe this is just sour grapes. Perhaps if I owned a delightful property on Cape Cod or had another summer vacation spot that beckoned when the mercury rose, I might feel very differently, and become one of the good weather tyrants myself.

It is 3:45 a.m. The rain has tapered off. It is gentle and soothing, rather than insistent. I'll imagine it is a lullaby for me.