Who was the first insomniac? I doubt it was Adam. Was it Eve, pondering over the road not taken? Did she wish she could undo her decision. When suckling her babies, did she give succor to doubt?t Did she stay with Adam because she was trying to make it up to G-d? Please love me again, the way you used to?
And what about nameless Noah's wife? Or Sarah, who was not an equal partner in the rearing of children? Or Rebecca, who had no helpmate and turned Jacob into hers? We are free to imagine Biblical women, as Biblical authors chose not to do so.
Woman had to be the first insomniacs. So many doubts, so many slights, so many insults. Rape, miscarriage, accusations. The tending of children, always crying. The tending of husbands, always crying.
I have always been an insomniac. Cursed to be raised by parents who actually believed in bedtime. Eight in the evening. Despite the fact that I was never sleepy at such a time. I would mentally make up rhymes to one-syllable words. Axe. Fax. Glass. Has. Lass. Mass. Pass. Sass. I would accept near rhymes as well. I would bore myself to sleep. When very young, my brother and I would tap out rhythms against our shared wall. But risk the wrath of Sylvia, who wanted an orderly evening. Children were to be asleep. Not that the house went quiet at 8. My father would still be typing, trying to get himself a new job. The loud sounds of the television penetrated to my room. Laugh in--I would
listen to it. Oh, to be able to legitimately watch it--I imagined that I would gain in glamour and sophistication and wit. I would be special. But it wasn't until years later when I started baby-sitting that I went to bed whenever I wanted to. And Iwanted around midnight. Or one a.m. Getting up for school was never a problem.
OnceI had my own apartment, insomnia no longer troubled me. To share a room with snorers, all content and out of it--that is torment. It no longer seems a nuisance when you live alone. You can get up, walk, watch television, read, prepare for the next day, write a book, etc. It seems more virtuous fthan problematicaH--But we are not meant to be in bed alone. We are meant to be mated and made love to. I take no comfort in hearing his snores, his quiet breathing in the cramped bed we share. It is maddening again, it is anger provking. I want to shout, to rouse him--care about me. Cherish me. Satisfy me. You are so passive, so doh-oriented. Why do you not actively satisfy me. WE hy do I have to take this passivity. You do not cherish me. You do not protect me. You do not take my side. You do not care about me more than you care about yourself. We are not in the same mental space,let alone the same psychological space. I feel that I am always the one showing him the world. That I am always the one comforting and constructing a safe space for him. I cannot trust him, for he is too anxious. I have to be mommy. I don't want a son, I want a lover. It is all such a compromise for me. All this so I won't be lonely during the day. I am lonely during the long watches of my night.