To Sleep, Per Chance......

I can sleep anywhere at any time. Hook my collar on a sturdy nail and I will nod off without a moments notice. In a matter of seconds I am drifting into a dream world seemingly free of stress, heartburn and grief. However, sleep does not necessarily denote rest and there is where my trouble begins.

Beneath Jon's shut eyelids lurks an aggregation of sleep disorders that would stir the average bear out of hibernation. I walk, talk, roll, flip, and even shave (half of my beard one night) in the throws of slumber. Amazingly, my long suffering wife has managed to retain her sanity through seventeen years of these bizarre nocturnal antics, though I fear she might gently smother me with a pillow one darkened night.

Scheduled by my doctor to participate in a sleep study several weeks ago, I grew feathers the night before and surrendered my chicken-hearted self to Colonel Sanders rather than attend. Aside from having to wear one of those sleep apnea contraptions that makes the subject look like a test pilot getting ready to leave the atmosphere, I feared my monitoring tape might appear on YouTube the following morning under the heading "Disturbed Old Fat Man in his PJ's."

This affliction has haunted me since childhood. One night my father discovered me kneeling next to my bed, shoving a stack of books under one of the legs. When asked what I was doing I reportedly answered "fixing a tire." Not one to allow an opportunity to pass, my Dad pointed under the bed and informed me that a few of my lug nuts had scattered towards the passenger side. I faintly remember him giggling as I scrambled under bed for the missing parts.

Several years ago I roused Janet out of a sound sleep claiming that our ceiling fan was bouncing up and down like a yo-yo. Lightly agitated, she walked to the doorway, flipped on the light switch which controlled the fan and proclaimed "Now it's going 'round and 'round, now go back to sleep you lunatic!"

These acts of quiescence don't always occur in the wee hours, sometimes the sand man visits me during the light of day. While employed as an advertising salesperson I was often asked to wait for a short while when my clients were helping one of their customers. Normally, the delay was short, however, the customer I was visiting on this day was notorious for keeping her sales reps waiting. Following a restless night, I eased myself onto a small bench in her showroom and fell asleep almost immediately. I awoke two and a half hours later, decorated like a Christmas tree. Upon my chest was a sign stating "Hi, I'm Jon the Sales-guy! Please excuse my snoring and remember that everything in the store is 20% off. I had been transformed into a human advertisement.

Flustered, my wiped the drool from my chin and sat up-right. Removing the tinsel from my hair and sleeves, I noticed a stack of photos on the counter next to me. I learned that for the past couple of hours people had not only been trimming me like a tree, but were also posing for pictures with me as well. The store owner assured me that I was the "hit of the day" and that if I didn't like the Polaroid shots on the counter, her partner would be back from the one-hour photo developers in a few minutes with some clearer images. More than a little embarrassed, I apologized for my behavior, yet politely refused to allow her to use my likeness for her Christmas cards the following year.

Perhaps I will reconsider my visit to the sleep clinic. It would be nice to wake up and feel something other than complete exhaustion and maybe someone in my house can get a night's rest as well. If you see a man on YouTube on night dressed like a trimmed-up Norwegian Spruce, you will know that I made it to the clinic safely. Sleep well.