Lunacy-esta

So you're lying in bed, sleepless and disturbed because you have a "restless mind", whatever that means. Then in through the window flutters some horrid phosphorescent green thing that looks like a cross between a deep sea creature and a paramecium, the kind of horrible thing that seen in the clear light of day would make you reach for a can of Raid or call for a priest. But not to worry - this refulgent thing lights on your head and suddenly you fall sound asleep, leaving yourself entirely at the mercy of the Green Thing.

Where I come from, that's called "nightmare fuel".

We Americans are such pansies. We can't do anything for ourselves any more. Now we can't even sleep. Instead we toss and turn, mentally reviewing our to-do lists, replaying unpleasant phone calls, revisiting awkward social encounters, and driving ourselves mad with our strange combination of heroic self-importance and wilting lack of confidence. So we turn to sleep aids to accomplish what we can apparently no longer accomplish on our own. We invite glowing green fluttery things to enter our bedrooms, light on our foreheads, and do God knows what to our brains.

Where I come from, the only sleep aid I ever needed was Nyquil.

Now, there are certain people who have very good reasons for not being able to sleep very well, such as chronic pain (like my wife) or sleep apnea (like a friend's husband). I don't lump these people into the pansy category, and for them, inviting the glowing green deep-sea moth into the bedroom might be a boon. But I don't accept "a restless mind" as a reason for loss of sleep, and especially when the restless mind is consumed with nonsense like work to-do lists. I can understand being consumed with concern for an absent loved one, a sick friend, or even a pet who isn't doing well. But reliving telephone conversations and to-do lists and social snubs? In the immortal word of Paul von Hindenburg, "Phooey!"

Maybe I shouldn't say I don't accept it as a reason. It's closer to the truth to say that I don't understand it as a reason, because I really don't have that problem. Oh, now and then my mind will start to wrap itself around its own axle as it tries to work out financial issues or worries about this or that issue. But for me, anyway, stopping that kind of useless mental whirling is desperately easy.

Most often, if my mind seems like it wants to act up, I lie in bed and think about disassembling something and putting it back together, visualizing each step in sequence - removing the bolts one by one, cleaning the parts, punching out the new gaskets, and so on. It's boring, and that's really the point - I rarely get past the part where I get all the bolts out before I fall asleep. Common subjects are pulling the heads off a V-8 or pulling the engine out of a tractor, things that are very procedural and involve lots and lots of bolts. This technique is so powerful that if I really do want to lay in bed and reflect upon things for a while (and not infrequently I do) I have to be careful to not think about engines, bolts or wrenches.

But this is America, and we don't do things for ourselves. Why count sheep when you can take a pill that will count sheep, or phosphorescent green deep sea monstrosities, for you?

I'm not sure when it happened - I want to blame the 1990s - but all of a sudden having minor health issues became all the rage. Suddenly everyone had carpal tunnel syndrome, or chronic fatigue syndrome, or allergies to unusual things, or restless minds. This is really more a reflection of affluence than anything else, as working-class people generally can't afford to have carpal tunnel syndrome or neuroses or weird allergies. I'm not saying that allergies, carpal tunnel syndrome and chronic fatigue syndrome don't exist - but I am saying that I think the majority of alleged sufferers are faking it in the same way that they fake cell phone calls. I knew a woman who claimed to be allergic to, among other things, aluminum and "positive ions". Not negative ions, just the positive ones. And the positive ions gave her diarrhea, which only added to my amused puzzlement. And who doesn't have at least one friend who seems perfectly healthy in daily life, able to walk through malls and go bowling and carry new TVs into his house, but who suddenly has a bad back or a trick knee or a thyroid problem when you ask if he can help you move? (I had a friend whose usual excuse for getting out of any kind of physical work was "I hab a sinus infection." To which I once replied "Perhaps so, but you don't lift with your nose, do you?")

I know people who have real health issues - a friend with osteogenesis imperfecta, my wife with a failed hip replacement, a friend's husband with severe sleep apnea, a friend who is in the process of losing her lymphoma remission, a friend who had to have cardiac bypass surgery done at the age of 41, a co-worker who simultaneously got pregnant and was diagnosed with breast cancer* - and it irritates me when I see pansies on TV wrapping themselves in the mantle of wounded suffering as they display sleeplessness, the latest and trendiest malady du jour. Count your blessings, you pansies.

And now, I'm off to disassemble a John Deere 4020 in my mind.

*Knowing me is apparently bad for one's health.