Another Night In Which Sleep Is a Dream

I am told that my snoring can wake the dead. My children take great pleasure in trying to imitate it. It is kind of fun to watch/listen to them do it. I am told that my snoring is so loud my neighbors wear earplugs. I am told that my snoring could be used to torture prisoners with sleep deprivation.

What I want to know is why I can’t sleep. Actually I can answer that question. Too many things on my mind. Too many concerns, too many worries, too much waiting time. When I have things hanging over me I get a little crazy. I like to tackle them head on. Let me find out what is going on sooner than later.

If I was coaching a football team my style on defense is to blitz the hell out of the opposing team’s offense. I want that quarterback to be on his back or worried that he is about to be put on his butt. On offense I want to wear out the defense with a punishing running attack interspersed with a precision passing game.

Next week is Yom Kippur. I am not ready. I am not ready. I am not ready. Ok, I am ready but I am anxious. I get this way sometimes. I have this sick feeling that someone I know is going to die. I don’t have any inside information. The people that I know that are sick are in the same condition as before. They could die anytime or go on for a while. Who knows.

At a little past midnight I thought that I saw someone looking in my bedroom window. I alternated between being scared silly and enraged. Don’t come to my house. Don’t invite my wrath because at midnight that is what you get. Went outside and patrolled the outside of my home. Didn’t find anyone, but noticed a few bootprints by a window. They could be mine or my gardener. I probably didn’t see anything.

But you can imagine that this revved my engine. It is part of why I am still awake. Working hard on trying to turn my mind off, or at least slow it down for a moment.

Spent a few minutes watching my daughter sleep. I sat in the middle of the room and listened to her breathe. Stood up and brushed her hair out of her face. Kissed her forehead and promised that daddy will always be there to protect and watch over her. Felt a dose of fierce love and regret that one day she’ll be too big for me to do this with her.

She must have known I was there, because she muttered I love you too and reached out to hug me. I am still looking for the pieces of my heart because I know that some of them fell out of my chest.

Life as a soccer coach has been fun. Working hard on teaching the boys to remember that this is a game and that the primary directive is to have fun. Spent all sorts of time teaching my son to stay in front of the ball. At this age not many kids are good enough to get by players who can do that. It is a good lesson. They learn that defense makes a huge difference and they gain confidence in their ability to do it.

The team is good. Actually the team is overwhelmingly good. We are destroying the other teams. I want to win, but not like this. It is too easy for the boys. I don’t want them to get over confident. They need to know that there is always someone better and that we need to plan for that. Besides if you don’t lose you don’t appreciate winning.

One of the other fathers and I took on four of the boys and showed them that they have a lot to learn. I was so proud of the kids. They figured out quickly that they could put two defenders on each of us. And then they found out that at their age they can’t run with the old men.

Speaking of that I realized that I am having more trouble aging gracefully than I want to admit. Raced a couple of the boys at the gym. In a short sprint I can still hold my own. It takes a little bit longer to get the engine warmed up, but I can still move.

Ego can be a wonderful source of motivation and quite detrimental. I am not the first person to ask why I can’t have the wisdom of my age and the body I had when I was twenty. What would it hurt.

Still can’t get beyond this feeling of doom. Makes me antsy. Judgement, judgement, judgement. This time of year it is always on my mind. Speaking of judgement it irks me that it can be spelled two different ways. It messes with my spell checker.

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  1. Jack's Shack September 17, 2007 at 6:55 am


    Nice idea, but probably not going to happen. Typing is too easy and too accessible.

  2. FlutePrayer September 17, 2007 at 6:12 am

    I had terrible handwriting until I started playing the flute. Maybe that would do the trick…

  3. fashionista cat in a zero gravity shoe-store September 16, 2007 at 8:13 pm

    A handwriting is a very personal and individual thing, but also a thing one can train to go into regular proportions. Download a nice “handwriting” font (e.g. from, print the alphabet and try copying the letters. You’ll see that soon your handwriting will become more and more clear.

  4. Jack's Shack September 16, 2007 at 7:50 pm

    write down your fears on filecards.

    Clearly you have never seen my penmanship. I’d never be able to read what I wrote.

  5. fashionista cat in a zero gravity shoe-store September 16, 2007 at 9:30 am

    The anxious feeling of something bad imminently lurking around the corner – it’s familiar. It’s taken a while, but I’ve learnt to address my fears by their name, i.e. I tell my bf or good friends, “I am afraid of XYZ.” Their input usually helps to minimize my fears and best case, helps me to laugh at them.
    Jack, you are very eloquent; now here’s an assignment from me to you: write down your fears on filecards. File them. When you’ve got a quiet moment with your wife or a good friend, take the file cards out and say, “This is what I’m afraid of.” And then, together, you can put a list of reasons on each file card why you need not be afraid of that respective issue.

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