I never did buy the earthing sheets I wanted so badly a while back. I just couldn’t justify the expense. But yesterday I did something even better. I had an electrician over. Actually, two. I “bought” them through Angie’s List, on one of those Groupon-like Daily Deals. Eighty-nine dollars for two hours of electrical work. What a steal! Even though I was informed once my duo arrived that it would only be one hour of electrical work, since they’d sent two electricians. Weasels. Still, it was fine, because all I needed was to correct one simple situation in our bedroom. I have known, since our inspection, that the outlets in there were ungrounded. It was one of the reasons I wanted the sheets. I was convinced the electrical imbalance was making me sleep poorly. But it finally occurred to me — duh — that there was a more direct way of addressing the problem. One that didn’t require laundering once a week. Just get the outlets fixed!

So I did. In one hour the job was done. Not “the best” way — which would, apparently, involve re-wiring our entire house, switching out the fuse box, and charging us around ten-thousand dollars — but the second-best way. Which is “perfectly safe” — it had better be! — and has something to do with running wires to the terminals blah blah adjacent outlet blah blah neutral charges blah blah. Jesus. Remind me next time I have insomnia to just call an electrician and let him rip. Talk about soporific! Zzzzzzzzz.

Anyway, we now have new, shiny, white, grounded and “tamper-proof” outlets in the bedroom, (the latter of which simply means that if MJ wants to electrocute herself on one she’ll have to use two fingers, instead of one, to get the job done.) And it only cost an additional $110! Super weasels.

But you know what? I think it did the trick. I think I have outwitted the earthing sheet people! I’m a genius! You don’t need any new-age sleeping gear. All you need is a decent electrician! Last night I slept really, really well! Blissfully! I mean, except for the three times MJ woke up. And the time I had to pee. And the time I opened my eyes and Mike wasn’t in bed yet and I wondered how he is going to stay alert in cars when he gets so little sleep. And the time my neighbor said an extended good night to his friend right outside our window at a ridiculously high decibel. I hate him. Anyway, other than all of that, it was amazing. I really think the outlets have made a difference. I know they have. I really rested.

And the fact that I need a nap desperately right now? The fact that I’m bleary eyed, thick of tongue, lolling on the table as I write this like an Oxy addict after a fix? It doesn’t change anything. It is not the fault of my bed. It is, in fact, more evidence to support the serenity of my new sleeping environment. I am being called, like Odysseus to Circe. Or to the Sirens. Or both. Odysseus got called a lot. Anyway. “Cooooome,” my bed is crooning. “I will nurture you, care for you, feed you. I will not turn you into a pig and eat you. Do not stop your ears with wax. I loooove you.”

And I will succumb. I will go sleep, in my newly electron-free bower. I will awake feeling whole, peaceful, sanguine, grounded, and decidedly unporcine. I will intuitively know that my bed is healing me.

All of that for $199. You’ve got to love Angie’s List.

Now if they could just do something about my neighbor…