Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 165, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 July 1915 — REWARD OF INSOMNIA [ARTICLE]

REWARD OF INSOMNIA

SLEEPLESS ’ INDIVIDUAL HAS SOME RECOMPENSE. At Least He Can Rest His Body, and Listening for the Coming of the Day Is Pleasure to Be Appreciated. Few men are more to be pitied than the confirmed “insomniac.” Few men seek more pity. Whoso cannot sleep must retail his tale of trouble to his associates, friends and chance acquaintances. He expects consideration and unconsciously demands admiration. But as a matter of fact, nearly every wakeful person in culpably responsible for his wakefulness. The longer he stays awake the more nervous and more irritated he becomes. He comes to dislike himself, to dislike nature, to dislike a world so poorly arranged. His wakefulness is a tense mental strain, more wearying than a day’s labor. The wearier he becomes the more resentful he feels, and he rages against his helplessness. All of which is sheer folly. Going to bed is as much for the purpose of resting the* body as of resting the mind. If the mind refuses to rest, the body should be given a fair chance. Counting to Impossible numbers and such artificial devices are usually vain. The best plan is to lie relaxed and at ease, thinking of something altogether agreeable. A reading lamp at the head of the bed and a handy book may be resorted to. Even if one stays awake thus for hours bis body is resting, and in the morning he is partly refreshed. Actual insomnia is very rare. Fear of insomnia, or “insomniaphobia,” is the ailment from which most sleepless persons suffer. But if sleeplessness cannot be put aside there is a certain reward for the sufferer. He can listen for the coming of the day, which is a pleasure denied to healthy sleepers. Just now he hears the first heralding of dawn at about 3:45. The herald is a rooster in some neighbor’s back yard. Heretofore that rooster has been greatly disliked and the neighbor has shared in his fowl’s unpopularity. Raucous crowings have awakened many a querulous slumberer. But when one is wide awake the cheery welcome to the new day is altogether agreeable. Chanticleer calls and calls and at length he has his answers; other roosters near and far send back their sanction of his message of optimism and confidence. And if the listener peers beneath the window shade there Is the first showing of the wan mystic light which bathes the birth of the dawn. Ten minutes more and a robin begins his song. Once well begun he does not cease for a long time. When the light grows strong the robin becomes less enthusiastic and his song is intermittent. Only at the day’s beginning does he sing his best and loudest. A few more minutes pass and an oriole commences to sing, or perhaps a wren. And the busy English sparrows cluck and chirp right beneath the window. There comes a faint rumble from the awakening city. The milkman clatters to the back door and clatters away again. A little morning breeze stirs the curtains, and a breath of it, fresh and cool, comes to the crumpled bed. A laborer passes whistling on his way to work, but it seems a drowsy whistle. The robin’s music seems to subside into a sleepy monotone. There is the almost soundless sound of the fitful wind in the maple leaves. And then, and then —.—Cleveland Plain Dealer.