I mentioned how I've been having insomnia.
Obviously, it's not fun. It's painful trying to get to sleep when your mind is yelling, "GET TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO SLEEP BUT ALSO REMEMBER THIS HORRIBLE THING YOU DID WHEN YOU WERE IN KINDERGARTEN THINK ABOUT THAT FOR A WHILE DO YOU FEEL THAT HOT FLUSH OF SHAME AGAIN GOOD NOW GO TO SLEEP BECAUSE YOU REALLY NEED TO GET SOME SLEEP."
It's a goddamn good time.
Anyway, there are occasions when I can actually get myself to fall back to sleep within a reasonable time frame.* What usually ends up happening is I'll read myself back to sleep. That delightful torpor where your eyes stay shut a little bit longer between blinks until you doze off, your finger marking your place in the book.
Sometimes, I'll kind of make sure that I have that book in the bed with me, my hand wrapped around it like a hardbacked teddy bear lulling me to sleep. I'll half-wake up, and instead of putting the book on the nightstand, I'll make sure my grasp is more secure.
* That was evidently not the case last night. I said to the husband, "I woke up at 3:30 and had the worst time trying to fall back to sleep." And he said, "Oh, no, really?" super sarcastically, and followed it up with, "I felt you pushing me. What were you trying to do?" "Um, fall back to sleep?"