Where I Sleep and Why

Tonight I fell asleep in a small crevice, maybe three feet wide, between my oldest son's bed and his bedroom wall. I kicked a few books and action figures out of the space, put a pillow and blanket down on the carpet, and crashed. I felt like sleeping in his room, so I did.

I can sleep anywhere, and I often like to sleep in places other than my bed.

I'm not sure exactly why I've slept in so many places (sounds racy, but it's not), but, after some thought, I think I may be onto something. First, I tend to be somewhat isolative. I feel a magnetic safety when I crawl into a small, out of the way area. The coccoon-like tightness breeds an artificial solitude. I can trace this desire for isolation to my childhood. My brother and I shared a room where our beds were about three feet apart. I often, especially in the winter, gathered my blankets up and slept on the hardwood floor between our beds. There was nothing as comforting as the four or five blankets between the beds and your breath sneaking out, freezing, from underneath. In that house, you needed all the time to think you could gather, and the isolation of small spaces afforded me places where I could hide, reflect,and reaffirm my soul.

This attraction to sleep, and the ability to engage in it just about anywhere, spread beyond my bedroom. I slept over at my friend Joe's often in middle school. We'd drink stolen Southern Comfort and play AC/DC songs on guitar. I'd fall asleep anywhere at Joe's; my favorite spot was behind the bar, on the cold tile, but I was known to fall asleep in his garage as well. I always kept on my clothes, by the way. I wasn't changing to jammies in middle school. My potential embarassment was good training for my later life, and I'm known, now, to fall asleep with everything, including my shoes, still on.

In high school and college I was notorious for falling asleep at parties and somewhere, I'm sure, photographic proof exists. Some of my sleep was drug induced, of course, but facets of the previously established patterns persisted. I remember once I was strung out on LSD, after an expansive party, coming down from a decent trip at a friend's (but not close friend's) Chicago apartment. I found the room where the coats were stored, picked up the coats, threw them on the floor, and spread out on the bed. I then pulled the coats back on me into sort of a makeshift quilt. None of the partygoers seemed to mind.

I also developed a lovely and valuable ability to sleep at work. I've crashed in empty hospital rooms. I've slept in spare radio station studios. Add office floors, and, once, the area underneath an elementary school reading loft.

At home, now, I sleep in my bed, well, sometimes. I often end up in bed after a couple hours somewhere else. My wife is patient with the habit. I've explained it's nothing personal. She's beautiful and all that. However, in a house with three kids, I still find the need to steal a few moments when I can think alone. For example, I tend to crash on the couch, after reading, in the winter. In fall and summer I pull a futon onto the screened-in front porch. Man, I love sleeping on the porch. Late at night I can hear the neighborhood cats calling to each other and the rare passing car's whoosh. In the morning the birds start early, before dawn, and the eastern light trickles through the windows. If the air has cooled a bit, overnight, I've caught the covers around me and pulled my dog close for warmth.

I guess if I'm going to sleep so much while on this planet the acti's location should have some meaning. So be it. It's 4:24AM. Back to sleep. Wherever that may be.