What A Refreshing and Delightful Treat
Last night around 10:15 I made an announcement to my husband, who was completely engrossed in my TiVo'd Oprah epsiode (it was about some guys who were shocked to learn that their father was secretly a bank robber, and we all know that the male gender is incapable of turning away from stories about bank robbery, fire, high-speed chases, or fugitives being brought to justice).
"I'm going to bed," I said, as if a completely novel idea had occurred to me, this notion that I could get in bed before midnight.
"At TEN?!?!"
"Yes. I'm going to bed."
And I did, y'all. I did.
You can imagine my surprise, when I woke up at dark o'clock this morning, to find that I was rested. Refreshed, in fact. Ready to conquer whatever the day had in store.
I've always been a night owl. I've programmed myself not to be so much of one out of sheer necessity, but given my druthers (does anyone know what "druthers" are, by the way? I throw that phrase around like I know exactly what it means, but for all I know what I'm really saying is "given my flags" or "given my peanuts" or "given my churns"), I'd stay up until 2 or 3 and sleep until 10 or 11. Every single day.
My brother-in-law loves to tell a story from one of my annual summer visits with him and my sister in Nashville. However, I should preface this story with a critical bit of information. When I arrived in Nashville for this particular visit, I was greeted by a large grocery sack filled with paperback books. A co-worker of my sister's had cleaned out her bookshelves, apparently, and my sister was the beneficiary. Because I have always been a reader, that paper sack might as well have been filled with, as we like to say in the South, cash money. It was a treasure trove, that's what it was. And I started reading the books about - oh, roughly? - 11 or 12 minutes after my arrival in Music City, USA.
Over the course of the week, I'd stayed up later and later, reading one book right after another, which is characteristic of that enjoyable OCD part of me that can't do anything in increments. If I'm going to read a book, I want to sit down and finish it, even if it means ignoring, you know, "childcare" and "responsibilities" and "appointments." By the same token, if I'm going to start a project, I need a block of time to devote my entire life to painting that wall or chopping that wood (and I cannot tell you how many times wood chopping has been the order of the day). My point is, there's no happy medium with me. At all. (Side note: I like to claim that I'm a "laid-back" person, but whenever I say that David gets this quizzical look on his face and then he points at me and laughs dementedly. So maybe "laid-back" isn't the best adjective to describe my personality. Perhaps "high strung" is slightly more accurate).
Anyway, imagine Barry's surprise when he returned home from work one summer Thursday - at approximately 5 in the afternoon, mind you - and discovered that I had just stumbled out of bed. Only moments before, in fact. And the only reason I got out of bed was because I heard his car coming down the driveway; otherwise I would've racked out until 6 or 7, at least. Oh, I tried to fake it like I had been up and productive for HOURS, but he didn't fall for my sneaky scheme. Something about my slitted eyes and wrinkled pajamas gave me away.
Which brings me back to my startling announcement last night. Since I started this blog(o-rama!), I have stayed awake, on a regular basis, until the wee hours of the morning. Check out the times I've posted some of this stuff. For some reason, it's like the creative juices don't start to flow (and I HATE that metaphor, by the way, but I can't think of another one) until at least 10 or 11 at night. But last night, interweb friends, I forsook you for some precious extra sleep. It was delightful.
The best part? I'm so rested and refreshed that, tonight, I'll be able to stay up late again! And the vicious sleep cycle continues....
"I'm going to bed," I said, as if a completely novel idea had occurred to me, this notion that I could get in bed before midnight.
"At TEN?!?!"
"Yes. I'm going to bed."
And I did, y'all. I did.
You can imagine my surprise, when I woke up at dark o'clock this morning, to find that I was rested. Refreshed, in fact. Ready to conquer whatever the day had in store.
I've always been a night owl. I've programmed myself not to be so much of one out of sheer necessity, but given my druthers (does anyone know what "druthers" are, by the way? I throw that phrase around like I know exactly what it means, but for all I know what I'm really saying is "given my flags" or "given my peanuts" or "given my churns"), I'd stay up until 2 or 3 and sleep until 10 or 11. Every single day.
My brother-in-law loves to tell a story from one of my annual summer visits with him and my sister in Nashville. However, I should preface this story with a critical bit of information. When I arrived in Nashville for this particular visit, I was greeted by a large grocery sack filled with paperback books. A co-worker of my sister's had cleaned out her bookshelves, apparently, and my sister was the beneficiary. Because I have always been a reader, that paper sack might as well have been filled with, as we like to say in the South, cash money. It was a treasure trove, that's what it was. And I started reading the books about - oh, roughly? - 11 or 12 minutes after my arrival in Music City, USA.
Over the course of the week, I'd stayed up later and later, reading one book right after another, which is characteristic of that enjoyable OCD part of me that can't do anything in increments. If I'm going to read a book, I want to sit down and finish it, even if it means ignoring, you know, "childcare" and "responsibilities" and "appointments." By the same token, if I'm going to start a project, I need a block of time to devote my entire life to painting that wall or chopping that wood (and I cannot tell you how many times wood chopping has been the order of the day). My point is, there's no happy medium with me. At all. (Side note: I like to claim that I'm a "laid-back" person, but whenever I say that David gets this quizzical look on his face and then he points at me and laughs dementedly. So maybe "laid-back" isn't the best adjective to describe my personality. Perhaps "high strung" is slightly more accurate).
Anyway, imagine Barry's surprise when he returned home from work one summer Thursday - at approximately 5 in the afternoon, mind you - and discovered that I had just stumbled out of bed. Only moments before, in fact. And the only reason I got out of bed was because I heard his car coming down the driveway; otherwise I would've racked out until 6 or 7, at least. Oh, I tried to fake it like I had been up and productive for HOURS, but he didn't fall for my sneaky scheme. Something about my slitted eyes and wrinkled pajamas gave me away.
Which brings me back to my startling announcement last night. Since I started this blog(o-rama!), I have stayed awake, on a regular basis, until the wee hours of the morning. Check out the times I've posted some of this stuff. For some reason, it's like the creative juices don't start to flow (and I HATE that metaphor, by the way, but I can't think of another one) until at least 10 or 11 at night. But last night, interweb friends, I forsook you for some precious extra sleep. It was delightful.
The best part? I'm so rested and refreshed that, tonight, I'll be able to stay up late again! And the vicious sleep cycle continues....
posted by boomama at 1/31/2006 07:58:00 AM
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