There is nothing more frustrating than wanting to sleep and not being able to. It’s desperate, especially when you have all the time in the world to rest, without the pressure of having to get up early. When worries don’t let you sleep… and neither does La Mamas.
But there I am, at three in the morning, with my eyes wide open, my mind racing, and a feeling of tiredness that doesn’t help because sleep just doesn’t come. And, as if that were not enough, there is a special protagonist that never fails to make stormy or tramontana nights worse: La Mamas.
Mamas, my little dog, has a visceral fear of storms. All it takes is a gust of wind or a clap of thunder for her panic to take over the whole house. First comes the howling, as if to warn us all of impending danger. Then he runs up to our bed, although “running up” doesn’t quite describe his triumphal entry. It’s more like a clumsy, desperate leap, followed by a “warpath” in which he steps on everything in his path: my head, my kidneys, and any part of my body that can support his weight.
When he finally manages to settle down, the situation doesn’t improve. She cries, climbs up to the pillow, steps on my face, and when she decides to drop, she does it with the gentleness of a sack of potatoes, right on my rib. But, of course, she’s still the one crying. Because it’s all about La Mamas. And there I am, in the middle of the night, caressing her and talking to her quietly to calm her down. And I succeed, of course. After a while, she sleeps soundly. She sleeps peacefully. I, meanwhile, am still awake, struggling not to fall out of a 2.50 meter bed, relegated to a corner with my ass in the air.
At this point, tiredness should have won the game over my brain, but no. That’s when the numbers start to rattle around in my head, as if the storm is internal. Invoices payable, loans, suppliers. I am tormented by the thought of how to get more people to come, what advertising campaigns we could try, what we are doing right and what we are doing wrong. My mind goes from one thought to another, making impossible calculations and trying to plan strategies that no longer make sense at that hour. Everything necessary to not go back to sleep for the rest of the night.
And while I am immersed in that sea of worries, La Mamas is still asleep as if nothing had happened. At that moment, irony strikes me: she came to bed to be soothed and now I am the one who can’t sleep.
Look, my partner is not spared from the chaos either, but at least she somehow manages to regain some space and get some sleep. I, on the other hand, am not so lucky. I look at La Mamas, who sleeps between the two of us as if she were the queen of the bed. I wonder how it is possible for such a big bed to become such a small place when she is in it. It seems like a mystery worthy of a documentary: the phenomenon of the shrinking bed.
And so, amidst worries, numbers and a body aching from the stomping of La Mamas, I arrive at morning. The dawn brings with it a mixture of relief and resignation, because I know that this will happen again. Every storm, every tramontana night, the ritual will be repeated. And I will continue to wake up exhausted, but unable to get angry, because deep down I understand that their fear is real. And because, in spite of everything, how can I not love this little dictator who trusts me to protect her?
From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!
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