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Uneasy lies the head upon wares of a clown

Sleep is not the issue. I’m a doornail in a log when it comes to that.

Still going to sleep? Aye, there’s the rub.

These days, getting from A to Zzzzz has become a Busby Berkeley production number designed by Rube Goldberg.

There already were enough contraptions and distractions with which to deal as I stumble to slumber, the last thing I needed was an ethical dilemma before plopping my head down for the night.

Actually, the last thing I need would be one of those ambient noise options that softly fill the room with the sound of a spring rain, a waterfall or waves arriving on the beach — the sole redeeming feature of which being that those call the question on the usual “to pee or not to pee” debate.

Robert’s rules of disorder being what they are since my weak back arrived a few weeks back, the quandary in which I find myself in this case concerns, well, what’s in the case.

(I see that I am using italics this week, in addition to the commas, ellipses and em dashes that populate this space. Should, parenthetically, former colleague Kaylee Tornay find this out, I could hear her eyes rolling all the way from Santa Rosa.)

But first

It begins with the pajamas, more precisely the bottoms — which, like pants and belts, do not come in odd-numbered waistlines to fit my odd-sized waist.

Off to the bathroom, to brush and flush, and a quick step back into the living room to see if the lights had been turned off.

You’d think this could be determined by the presence of light coming through the bedroom door, and you’d be right but you aren’t in my bedroom at that hour to offer such a reminder.

Is the quilt of sufficient strength to prevent the penetration of cat claws? Are the sheets evenly distributed on both sides (for, as any couple will attest, the only time they’ll be that way over the next 6-8 hours)?

There’s not enough time or space to discuss mattresses, except to say that Goldilocks and Princess Winnifred the Woebegone would be the Pips to my Gladys Knight.

Once upon the mattress, a pen and notepad sit ready on the nightstand — in case inspiration strikes. I used to keep them near the computer until as it says on the top sheet of this particular pad “I would find myself in the den forgetting why I was there.”

As my bedmate plows through her gazillionth novel beneath our perfectly proportioned sheets, above me on the headboard sit a half-dozen titles I’ve started and will absolutely, positively, as sure as my name is whatever my name, finish reading some day.

Between the knees slips a cushion to ease the pain from the cranky sacroiliac, and then it’s on with the CPAP (Is then tank filled? Can I afford to check and risk the sound of distilled water being poured?).

Once more unstilled “to pee” definitely wins the nightly debate. Again.

Finally, as she finishes a chapter and pulls up the covers, and the cat waits to climb aboard finally, time has come to neutralize the noggin onto to the waiting comfort of my pillow.

Nooooo (Sorry, Kaylee)

Here it comes, once again. If internally rehashing the events of the day, interspersed with various flashback dating back decades, weren’t enough to keep the sheep in their pen, I’m now staring at the ceiling from the platform of my pillow.

I’m going to say “my pillow” one more time just in case you haven’t followed the way I’m drifting.

Yes, I have been using the overwhelmingly over-priced and over-hyped infomercial sleep product for some time now, after a woebegone search for a suitable headrest led to a pillow population explosion.

But now it’s no longer a matter of comfort, it has become a political, moral and ethical quagmire as the founder who made an outrageous fortune from said company has emerged as a conspiracy theorist with some recent rather public displays of bloviating that would not ease a troublin’ mind.

If one chooses to continue sleeping on my pillow, even if they aren’t in my bedroom at the hour, can your conscience deal with your subconscious while you conscious gets 40 winks?

If not, should it tossed? Set ablaze? Maybe it can sent to others who must have trouble sleeping these daze — like those who mistakingly cast votes in the House for U.S. Rep. Miss Q, or any of the agencies and officials responsible for the lack of access to COVID-19 vaccines.

I know this much: Deciding whether it is nobler to pee or not to pee is easier than suffering through this sea of troubles.

Mail Tribune news editor Robert Galvin is staring at the ceiling of rgalvin@rosebudmedia.com