I fall asleep to the sounds of seinfeld most nights. seinfeld on my phone, which I place face down on my nightstand, dreaded blue light be damned. I can still hear jerry's voice, though and the ever muffled voices of elaine and kramer and george. after sleepy time yoga and sleepy time breathing and sleepy time tea and sleepy time everything and then thirty, maybe forty-five minutes of what is called "deep sleep mindful meditation'" (in which I am promised a deep, boneless sleep), I am usually still wiiiiide awake, eyes like silver dollars.
sometimes I can see the moon from my side of the bed, in the top right corner of the window, though just a sliver of it. sometimes I close my eyes and mentally walk through every house I've ever lived in, starting with the chocolate brown split-level in southern illinois where I once accidentally set the entryway wall on fire while pretending to cast spells on no one in particular. I slept well in that house. but I was six.
I have always been able to sleep anywhere, anytime, until now. now, I require a magic mattress, a frigid room, an elaborate night time routine and the muted sounds of a nineties television show. the truth is that seinfeld seems to flatten things, and in the flattening, I find sleep. not deep, boneless sleep but, sleep. and admittedly, some wildly seinfeldian flavored dreams. but, I'll take it. I'll take it.
