Anxiety is easier

I sleep fine.  It takes maybe ten or so minutes for me to fall asleep and I stay that way without effort.  My life, my imaginations, my cares are a comfort at bedtime.  They remind me I'm alive and that I'm going somewhere.

My wife can't sleep.  She hasn't been able to for decades.  Her mind comes alive at bed.  What's next?  What's now?  What has been?  How can you possibly sleep when there is so much?  So she paces; she cleans; she reads; she jots it all down.

My daughter is two years old and sleeps like a baby (coincidence?).  How will she sleep when she gets older?  Like her hibernating father or her persevering (to continue a course of action even in the face of difficulty) mother?  When I asked myself this question, the answer arrived instantly: her mother.  Anxiety is easier.  

I have no follow-up to this.  I am astounded and appalled but I am certain it is the truth.  Anxiety is easier for me as well.  I just have a talent for sleep.  I worry about a lot that my wife doesn't and vice versa.  To stop worrying is too stressful.  I don't know why this is the case. 

Fuck, I'm not going to sleep tonight.