Sleep With Me!

A few weeks ago, I wrote about doing stand-up and how I haven’t done it in many years now because I’m not sure if it’s for me anymore. I did admit that the itch is there, though, and since sharing that, the itch has been getting stronger. So much stronger, in fact, that I’ve been starting to write down new material, but for some odd reason it’s all been about sleeping. In fact, I’ve wakened from sleep with these ideas and then rushed to write them down before I forget them because that’s how my brain works, or doesn’t work, perhaps — write it down or lose it forever.

I doubt I’ll be on any stand-up comedy stage anytime soon, so I’ll share this material with you. Mind you, it’s in its infant stage of development, but I’d appreciate any feedback you’d like to offer — not so much about my delivery because I’m just sitting here speaking to my laptop’s camera, but rather with the material itself.

This is my first attempt at using the video portion of Substack, which is in its beta trial period, but I figured this would be a good topic to try it out with. So, without further ado, here is my bit about sleeping. I hope it’s not a snoozer. Ha, ha. Here’s a cute photo of my dogs sleeping to make up for it if it is.

“I love to sleep. Just love it. Completely suck at it, but love it like my life depends on it, which I guess it does. I sleep completely fine when sleeping alone, but I prefer to sleep with someone. Have that company in my bed, you know, for obvious reasons . . . if I die during my sleep, someone’s going to find me before I start to stink and the cat eats me.

Not sure my someone always enjoys sleeping with me, though. I’m a snorer. A bad one. I get it from . . . my mom. That woman can saw through a California redwood. I used to camp with my parents and my kids in my parents’ nice camper. It had a big bed in the front for them and a nice set of bunk beds far in the back for my kids and an awesome table that converted into a small, shitty bed in the middle for me. Lucky me. Not only did I get the crappiest bed, it also put me in greater proximity to my mom and her mouth chainsaw. Loved those sleepless camping nights.

Now I’m the old lady snorer who keeps others awake. My boyfriend takes his life in his own hands every night when he attempts to “nudge” me slightly awake — just enough that I’ll adjust my position and stop snoring to give him a few minutes of peace. He has no idea how close to the peace of eternal sleep he’s come to earning with his so-called gentle nudges while I’m deep in the cocoon of much-needed sleep.

He’s a snorer, too, though, so I get it. If I’m not already asleep when he starts snoring, it’s a toss up between a gentle nudge in his ribs or a pillow pressed firmly to his face.

I envy people who can remember their dreams. I have weird dreams that I can never remember. They’re so weird that they wake me with their weirdness, but within minutes they’re just . . . poof . . . gone. But for some strange reason, I can remember a snippet of a dream I had, like, 20 years ago. I was teaching back then, and I had a maroon, padded desk chair with rollers on the legs. It was my first chair with rollers. Fancy stuff. In my dream, an orangutan was riding that chair down the middle of the street in front of the school, and I was chasing it, trying to get my chair back. I loved that chair. Not sure how that orangutan was managing to ride it — it’s not like the chair was motorized; that would have been super fancy — and the street was flat, but he was really booking down the street on my chair. He just got further and further away, looking back and taunting me the way orangutans do. I remember waking from that dream utterly pissed that the orangutan had made off with my desk chair. What a stupid dream. Even more stupid? I can remember THAT one.

I’m a side sleeper, at least to fall asleep. Have to be on my side. I will wake on my back. Never on my stomach. Stomach sleepers are freaks. How can you sleep like that and still breathe? And well-endowed ladies, how do you not crush the, uh, the “ladies?” I’ve tried to sleep that way. Can’t do it. My mom and my daughter both do it, and they’re both well-endowed. Freaks. That’s all I’ve got to say. I’m not jealous — you’re jealous. No, I fall asleep on my side, but I wake on my back, typically in this position. The older I get, I’m pretty sure my body is just preparing me for the inevitable and saying, “you might as well get used to it.”

For a long time, years and years, I suffered from serious insomnia until I finally found this wonderful and effective cure called . . . divorce! Cleared my insomnia right up, I tell ya. That first night after he moved out, I slept like a non-colicky baby fully sated on her momma’s breast milk. It was a good night.

I’m a super picky sleeper, though. Some people are picky eaters, but I’m a, well, I’m a picky eater, too, but I’m a very picky sleeper. The room has to be super dark, super quiet, and just the right temperature. The right temperature is impossible for me to find now that menopause and its cascade of heat set to the level of Hell boils out of me each night. Don’t blow a fan on me, though, especially from above. I will freak out and not be able to sleep. And for the love of all that is holy, do NOT attempt to cuddle with me. You and I will both be drenched in a level of sweat that should only happen after running a marathon, and you’ll find yourself holding a completely rigid woman who cannot fall asleep while someone else is essentially lying on her. All that touching is for the gymnastics prior to sleep. Sleeping is a solo sport, so leave me alone to do it. It’s like when my brother and I used to argue over the backseat — stay on your own damn side of the bed.”

That’s all I have for now. As I mentioned earlier, this is all completely new and unpolished material. If I were to use it in a stand-up bit, I’d rework it many times over to get the phrasing just right, I’d practice it aloud repeatedly until I knew it cold, and then I’d second guess the whole thing and rewrite passages a few more times. I don’t know if I’m cut out for the stand-up comedy world, but I do enjoy making people laugh, so I hope you chuckled at least once during my “sleep” bit.

I’ll leave you to read the following short story I wrote a long time ago about a comedian whose family and friends don’t appreciate her stand-up humor. It’s called “A Comic’s Lament.” If you’re not a paid subscriber yet, please consider becoming one, so you can access all the extras. It’s only six dollars a month or sixty for a year, which gives you two free months.

Thanks.

Tammy Marshall