Citronelle: My Foolproof, Surprising, Ingenious Technique for Drifting Off Like a Baby — Anytime, Anywhere
Forget Ambien + 2 shots of vermouth, this natural method works wonders.
As a senior striving to become a senior-plus someday, I treasure my sleep as much as my daily walks, weightlifting, mountain hikes, vigorous sex, and tasty broths with noodles and greens.
But here in Hong Kong, life moves pretty damn fast. Despite its current political challenges, which we all needed like a hole in the head, the city remains a playground for the spirited and ambitious, especially at night.
From Causeway Bay to Kennedy Town, a zesty melange of stinky tofu, flashing neon, and unholy racket poses challenges for anyone trying to get some honest shut-eye.
You’d think I’d be immune to it after all these years. But how the hell could I be? The world-famous Tram races back and forth right below my window.
Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding!!!
(Try having an afternoon romp with your best lady to that soundtrack.)
Of course, we all know a bustling environment isn’t the only cause of poor sleep.
Shit just happens sometimes — and suddenly, rumination and worry, like Godzilla and King Kong, are slugging it out in your head past bedtime.
Take me at 45. My third marriage had ended, I’d lost my mother, and some local shady characters had “persuaded” me to sell a Kowloon nightclub I’d only owned for a short time.
Get the picture?
You’d think all of that was bad enough. But chronic insomnia became its own form of torture.
I’d amble up and down Victoria Peak for hours, trying to exhaust myself. I’d scribble in my journal, drink potions from local medicine men, count sheep.
I even started to hallucinate.
Imagine my neighbor’s face when I banged on his door about the alligator in the elevator.
After months of such nonsense, relief finally came in the form of a surprising solution: reading in bed.
Now, you may be thinking, “I haven’t slept in a goddamn week — and I’ve endured this old badger’s ramblings just to be told to read in bed?”
Well, yes, but you should know: it’s the kind of reading you do that matters.
That’s the secret sauce.
So listen to me, and I mean carefully.
If you consume something like this or this or this around midnight, you’re doomed. These are young, innovative talents whose work will light up your synaptic circuits for the next month.
Stay away!
No, my friend, what you need is something more sedating, a literary tranquilizer, of sorts.
As soon as you finish this article, what you must do — listen to me now — is click over to Amazon and peruse the biography section.
Obviously, steer clear of the Gandhis, the Michael Jordans, the Chairman Maos, the Billy the Kids. Don’t even think about a Steve Jobs, an Audrey Hepburn, or God forbid, a Harriet Tubman.
Think Charlemagne, people!
Or Queen Victoria. Or Chester A. Arthur. Or William of Ockham.
Trust me: the laborious narratives of these bores’ lives will knock you out cold.
They’ll make your old chemistry textbook seem like Apocalypse Now.
For full effect, I prefer a reading light attached to a thick, musty tome.
Not your speed? Don’t sweat it. Not even the blue light pouring off a tablet or phone will undo the somnolent effects of a dull biography.
Discovering this technique at such a difficult crossroads did more than just improve my sleep — it restored my sanity.
If you presently find yourself in a similar boat, I wholeheartedly endorse this old-school approach.
Here’s wishing you a peaceful night’s slumber.
