The joy of Easter

We all know the importance of sleep; it's important for cancer prevention, staying a healthy weight, avoiding depression, ageing more slowly, resisting colds and bugs and thinking clearly.
So it was with some frustration that I have found myself not sleeping so well over the bank holiday weekend and in the previous week. For the preceding week I had been either staying in my little room back in university, or else my flat 'near' work. My little room is lovely, but I need to wake early to get to work, since it's a long journey, and despite the children being off school the traffic was terrible. So I slept badly there because I had to wake early, and because when I know I already haven't a full night to sleep I can't relax as easily: I'm already anticipating the day of struggle ahead.
My other place is a dingy dive, and I am allergic to it. Maybe it's mould, but I snuffle, sneeze and wheeze when spending nights there. Breathing tends to be a good thing as far as relaxing nights of sleep go. But not only is it such a hovel that my body rejects being there, but it is also overlooking a main road, ensuring that the rumble of traffic disturbs me even once I've managed to ignore it enough to get to sleep. The final nail in my coffin is that the window is set to open only a tiny amount. I struggle to understand why you would build a window that can open, but then limit it to open an insufficient amount to let any breeze through.

When it came to the long weekend, then, I was ready to relax in my little room and sleep soundly. The first night I stayed up late and then woke earlyish simply because of habit (and the sunlight pouring round my blind). But on Saturday or Sunday nights I woke part-way through the night to find myself crying. I knew why: I'd been dreaming that my mother was dead. It's a standard nightmare I've had for a long time, but it was hard to get back to sleep because of course now it's also true.
Well, when something nasty like that happens you just live with it. I managed to sleep some more and had other vivid dreams and looked forward to the next night's sleep. So imagine my frustration when I woke early on Tuesday morning after dreaming that my mother and I had decided to do some pottery in the evenings together. I think the sadness when I woke up was even worse than the previous nightmare. It's tough waking up after such a happy thought of chatting to my mother and agreeing to do something fun only to realise that I can never have such moments again.

Easter weekend was tough. I was looking forward to a weekend off work, relaxing and seeing friends. But everyone was away visiting parents; it seems that big holiday periods are the perfect time for a family trip. For those of us lacking that option, the quietness is a subtle but continuous reminder of the sadness that we carry.