THE HUMAN body does strange things.
For instance, we spend a third of our lives in a coma, a state of suspended animation. We have a soft place to lie down for this, and we put on comfy clothing, or we just strip naked.
I refer to our need for sleep, of course.
I sleep like the proverbial log, normally. It helps to not have something worrying you. Have you noticed that worries magnify magnificently at night? A trifling concern in daytime becomes a monster worry after the lights go out.
And then when you wake in the morning, that same worry shrinks to its proper proportion, easily resolved.
My child bride worries about everything, so she doesn’t sleep as soundly as I do. She has a mob of relatives, all of whom have big-time issues, being Mexican and all, and she worries about every one of those relatives, nonstop.
I don’t worry about her relatives at all, and I only have two on my side. My daughter who lives in a field of clover, and my nutty sister whom I have not heard from in three years.
You’d think I might worry about that latter, but I do not. Quite the contrary. It gives me peace of mind.
Unlike lots of aging men, I don’t get up repeatedly at night to take a whiz. Just once, usually. Sometimes not even that. My svelte body works well — he said, as he knocks on wood, the desk I had made by carpenters years back.
This happened just once last night, about 4 a.m. Waking up at night here is interesting. There are sounds. Last night, I heard a burro bray and there were the unsettled chickens that overnight in the neighbors’ apple tree.
Maybe my nights pass smoothly because I have a beautiful babe next to me, even if she is fretting over relatives.
Our comas end with bagels and Philadelphia cream cheese or, on special occasions, croissants and orange marmalade.
It’s a great way to return from the world of the comatose.