Not that Kind of Woke

Found in the Allan Gardens: someone shared their good news.

Monsters under the bed were not a problem when I was a kid. I'd heard of the bogeyman, but never met him. I slept like a stone my entire childhood. My sleep was so profound that sometimes I'd go for a walk while out like a light. 

Many years later, I joked that no one over 40 sleeps through the night. I don't remember when I stopped being able to land an uninterrupted sleep, but, for 'way more years than I was an effortlessly slumbering child, I've had the Wake Up Monster (WUM) living under my bed.

I have made sacrifices in an attempt to appease the WUM. I have sworn off caffeine. I don't even eat chocolate anymore. 

But the WUM's more like a bossy lifestyle coach than a volcano god. It wants me to exercise regularly, take yoga classes, meditate and avoid alcohol. 

No matter what I do, the WUM reaches out every night to wake me up. A hot flash. An ear worm. A full bladder. All of the above.

Some nights I get back to sleep; some nights I don't.

I imagine the WUM looks like Mike Wazowski in Monsters Inc. The one wakeful eye seems appropriate.

Because I'm retired, sleepless nights don't really matter, and, these days, any additional company at all, even in the form of an imaginary pest, is welcome.

The Rest of Our Lives

In the cold, dark, midwinter Toronto lockdown, Bruce and I do two things. We go shopping for food once a week; for the rest of the week, we eat that food.

Thanks for reading!

Stay safe and warm!

Karen