Doug Blough

Barbara Mandrell sang “Sleeping single in a double bed ...” Barb was bemoaning the fact she's alone in a big bed, but I find it perfectly delightful. I've long trumpeted the benefits of sleep as a solo endeavor, and now an AP article confirms it.

I found and clipped the article about the benefits of sleeping alone, but wouldn't ya know it ... I misplaced it in the mountain of newspapers in this hoarder-household. (It's just informational hoarding mind you — newspapers, DVR recordings, etc. — it's not like there's rotting food stacked up and rats running rampant. Sure, a few cute mice surface then disappear from my stove burners occasionally, bringing to mind a game of whack-a-mole, but my house isn't yet a candidate for the show “Hoarders”).

My point before rambling was: I read this article and now I lost it, so I'll have to kind of wing it with what little info my little brain retains. Basically the lost article proclaimed more and more couples are sleeping in separate beds, if not separate rooms. They're sleeping longer, sounder and awake more rested, and having the courage to admit it. It lists innocuous reasons like loud snoring and sleep apnea, but I believe the real reasons have much more to do with simple, unencumbered comfort.

I'd venture to guess the number one reason couples are sleeping apart is as simple as ABC … sweat. Nobody likes the feel of foreign sweat on their skin. I don't care how much you love that jewel next to you, if you're unable to move, much less sleep because there's a wet arm draped across your face, you're cursing a blue streak. Not audible enough to wake her of course, since there's that pressure to keep up the ruse that you're content. But there's no getting around it, when you're craving glorious slumber, you don't want to hear the pitter-patter of perspiring pits.

And while you're sweating the sweat, finally almost asleep, a restless leg might come from nowhere to kick you in the ribs. As most know, I've never married, but am not gay, (not that there would be anything wrong with that) and have had brief periods of cohabitation when my quality of sleep suffered. I can't count all the times (I'd say maybe six) I've been inadvertently swatted in the middle of the night. There's no apology to be had because that thrashing sleeper was just doing what's inborn in all of us — the irresistible urge to roll, and stretch, and go “Aaaah!”

Here's a prime example of how sleeping in close proximity could even prove fatal. Years ago, I dreamed I was playing football and after a fumble, it was my chance to be the hero who recovers it. It crossed my mind diving head-first into a pile is how some players have become paralyzed, but I ignored my fear and dove for it. I awoke sprawled over the far side of the bed, blood gushing from my broken nose. I had launched across the bed and slammed nose-first into a set of box springs that was propped up between the bed and wall.

That worthless mattress still stands in that same spot, with the blood stains still visible. What if some beautiful, yet fragile gal had been lying next to me, sweating up a storm? That nocturnal fumble recovery could have sent my knee directly into her temple, killing her instantly. Then I'd be on “Dateline” explaining from prison how it was a fluke accident rather than second-degree murder. It's not a stretch to imagine that very scenario.

Currently, I seldom wake up in the same spot I fell asleep, and the only one I'm disturbing is my cat. We were meant to snore and thrash and meander at night, and inviting someone into your personal sleeping space isn't healthy or practical. That's why I'm happy to be …

“Sleeping single in a double bed, erotic dreams dancing in my head. I could be miserable, but instead … I'm sleeping single in a double bed.”