Sleep No More
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| Lady Macbeth, sleepwalking |
But I didn’t need the AHA to tell me to get to sleep. It seemed like common sense. Sure, I would love to get eight hours of continuous sleep. But I am no longer wired that way.
So, as the New York Times now reports on "sleep connoisseurship" and Gen Z's quest for "sleep perfection," I go to bed early and am up at the imperfect hour of 4 a.m.—often earlier.
Mine is not the kind of “slumbery agitation” that caused Lady Macbeth to sleepwalk. Unlike Shakespeare’s tragic heroine, I have not encouraged my husband to commit regicide. I have nothing on my mind to keep me up—no crises of conscience, world problems, or financial conundrums.
I bound out of bed in the middle of the night, eager to tackle new projects and inhabit my internal world. I write ideas down, read, shop, prep food, watch videos, and water plants. I even drink coffee. Mostly, I write.
I bound out of bed in the middle of the night, eager to tackle new projects and inhabit my internal world. I write ideas down, read, shop, prep food, watch videos, and water plants. I even drink coffee. Mostly, I write.
Like Lady Macbeth, I did go through a sleepwalking phase earlier this year. I found myself at the coffee maker without any recollection of how I got there. One time, I even fell on the floor while unconsciously making coffee. Thankfully, this phase has passed.
The puppy (he is three, but will always be our puppy) is often up at this hour, too. There is nothing on his mind, either. He is just excited to lick my ear. Before I go downstairs, I try to put him back to sleep. At least one of us should rest.
I used to be a late sleeper. On Saturday mornings, Joe would come in to update me with a list of things he had already accomplished by 11 a.m. when I was waking up. There was always something judgy and Puritanical about those interactions.
As I got older, my biorhythms shifted. I no longer required or wanted as much sleep. The tables have turned, and I now wake up Joe at 6 a.m. I’ve already been at it for hours.
I consulted with a sleep pathologist who told me that I suffer from the scary-sounding “advanced phase Circadian rhythm disorder.” This means that “my sleep quality and duration are normal, but sleep onset and wake times are earlier than desired or earlier than socially acceptable times.”
The good doctor reminded me that perfect is the enemy of good. He didn’t seem at all concerned about my nocturnal habits. He told me to force myself to stay up later, and I would sleep later. That was the extent of his intervention.
But as I told Dr. Y, there is a quiet magic to using the wee, small morning hours to think, write, and create. I have tried to capture this magic during normal waking hours—it’s just not the same.
Now, if you will excuse me, it's 4 a.m. I need to drink some more coffee, water the plants—and write next week's post.
The puppy (he is three, but will always be our puppy) is often up at this hour, too. There is nothing on his mind, either. He is just excited to lick my ear. Before I go downstairs, I try to put him back to sleep. At least one of us should rest.
I used to be a late sleeper. On Saturday mornings, Joe would come in to update me with a list of things he had already accomplished by 11 a.m. when I was waking up. There was always something judgy and Puritanical about those interactions.
As I got older, my biorhythms shifted. I no longer required or wanted as much sleep. The tables have turned, and I now wake up Joe at 6 a.m. I’ve already been at it for hours.
I consulted with a sleep pathologist who told me that I suffer from the scary-sounding “advanced phase Circadian rhythm disorder.” This means that “my sleep quality and duration are normal, but sleep onset and wake times are earlier than desired or earlier than socially acceptable times.”
The good doctor reminded me that perfect is the enemy of good. He didn’t seem at all concerned about my nocturnal habits. He told me to force myself to stay up later, and I would sleep later. That was the extent of his intervention.
But as I told Dr. Y, there is a quiet magic to using the wee, small morning hours to think, write, and create. I have tried to capture this magic during normal waking hours—it’s just not the same.
Now, if you will excuse me, it's 4 a.m. I need to drink some more coffee, water the plants—and write next week's post.
Peter's sleepwalking, coffee-making, and plant-watering abilities are truly remarkable, but I just hope he doesn't try to include me or the dogs into the mix before 6:00 a.m.
ReplyDeleteAs usual, I loved the Verities ! !
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