Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Can't do it. Or, won't do it. Whether it's literally or figuratively, I do not let sleeping dogs lie.

This is my dog, the Gabster, having tucked herself in bed for a little snooze. Well, I insist on petting her because she looks so darn cute. Then I pet her and talk to her. Then I take her picture and the flash annoys her.

When faced with an issue or life situation, I go to one of two extremes. I bury my head in the sand for a while or I ponder and discuss it to death. (Hmmm... Wonder where I got that little quirk?) Even when things are resolved, I want to bring it up again. Even when everyone involved has voiced his or her thoughts, I can't seem to let it lie. I've been accused of beating a dead horse. Is that the same as not letting sleeping dogs lie? All these animal metaphors get confusing to me.

I'm not even sure this is something I want to change about myself. Going over and over things helps me to understand and clarify. But I will try to leave Gabby alone when she's quietly enjoying her nap time.

No Privacy

I'm watching two news people discuss the Caylee Anthony case, which continues to get more bizarre. Now they've discovered a heart sticker on the child's remains. The reporter is discussing the dream team of attorneys and forensic experts assembled for the defense and throws into the mix, " ... the Anthonys are deeply in debt." Probably the death of their granddaughter and the charges facing their daughter are top of mind. When the dust settles, will it really be necessary for the general public to know this factoid about their finances?

If you've ever made a late payment or missed a debt, you know what it's like to be tracked down like a dog. If you've been married before, creditors call anyone and everyone remotely associated with you, your exes, their exes, parents, etc. I recently received some junk mail for -- get this -- my husband's exwife's exhusband. This was just a stupid leaflet but I'm sure we've all received calls and mail for each other. Once a name or address changes on a document, anyone with access to your credit report can look up all kinds of information.

Remember the childhood threat of "Don't do that -- it will go on your permanent record." It's true; it just wasn't explained very well.

Facebook and other social networking sites allow us to connect but they also steal a bit of our privacy. I belong to some but I'm leery. I cringe at some of the things I see while browsing these sites. I'm a little "out there" with this blog but it's nothing incriminating to me or others. So what if you learn that I've lived my entire 40s with oldies. It's true and it's part of my permanent record.

Speaking of privacy, there is none for my oldies either. I know who's up in the middle of the night. I know all medical issues and medications partly because I"m nosy and partly because we discuss everything incessantly. I know when it's naptime because I walk around by myself, look at the clock and think, "Seriously?" (It's kind of like kindergarten when you could be happily coloring or playing a game and the teacher would announce, "Get your sleepy mat -- it's time to lie down." That always annoyed me.) Now I get frustrated because I never learned to nap. I can barely sleep at night.

Of course, my oldies know far more about me than they would like.

Sleep Envy

Restful sleep is no longer an easy process. I don't understand why or when this happened. I used to be able to fall asleep and stay asleep with no problem. Those days appear to be over. My parents used to joke that you could run a train through my room and I wouldn't wake up. I long for those days.

The oldies are good sleepers. She may prowl around during the night, but she has no problem curling up in bed (during the day) and accompanying him on a long winter's nap. The husband can announce that he's going to watch TV and be asleep in his chair in 30 seconds. He can get on an airplane and be asleep before we take off.

When the baby is here, his agenda is sleep. I used to think it was growth spurts but now I think he's inherited some gene that allows him to fall asleep at will.

The Unabomber can sleep anywhere ... a chair, the kitchen table, the car ... it doesn't matter. I know he's old but how tired can he be? Even the puppy has a sleep routine that seems to work for her.

I've tried all the tricks. Great sheets and lavender linen spray. Games in my head to bore myself. TV on; TV off. It's 1:03. It's 3:20. It's 4:25. Oops, now it's time to get up.

I'm jealous of those people who can sleep.