This may be a new record for me. Up until now, I've been...mostly...on time with my blog entries. I may have slid past the midnight demarcation into the wee hours of a Thursday or the glimmerings of a Sunday morning, edging past the civilized bed-time hours on some sort of masochistic crusade to make sure that end of the candlestick was well and truly burned. But I got them in before bed, before my Wednesday ended, before my Saturday was done. A small distinction but one I cling to. This entry? Is late. Even by my qualified standards of time management.
And what was I doing on Wednesday night? What tempted me from keyboard? What prompted me to put down my book, to turn away from the TV? Honest truth? I was sleeping. The book I was then engrossed in, The Lake of Dead Languages by Carol Goodman had been getting really good and I'd been looking forward to an evening in its pages. Instead, it sat, splayed open print-side down on the arm-rest of my arm-chair. I don't think I managed a paragraph. The Dateline I'd recorded? Played through unattended, dire warnings unheard and unlamented. My blog? Was left blank, barely even a glimmer in my head before sleep eradicated it entire. I abdicated my Wednesday night in favor of a rumpled set of sheets and the whir of my ceiling fan.
Yes, I slept through that entire Wednesday evening, through the whole of that Wednesday night and woke eerily refreshed at a rough half past 5 on a Thursday morning. I saw WOK Jeff's daily post go up. I never see it in real time. I was up before the sun, before that 6:30 deadline which is the make or break point as far as squeezing in a shower and getting to work on time. I'll confess, I will occasionally even push that deadline to 6:32, sometimes 6:33, having perfected the scrub 'n' go technique required of all night owls who work the 7am shift. Before you ask, I live approximately 2 to 5 minutes away from work depending on traffic. And I have no compunctions about wet hair. They pay me to work, not to coiffe. My hair's awful anyway, so why bother?
But, on Thursday, awake before the alarm, awake before the sun, awake maybe before our own WOK Jeff? I felt good. I had time for a long shower, a weekend shower, a stand under the hot spray eyes-shut shower. I had time to do my hair. Still awful, but better than the wet-head look. Seriously, it's a style? I had time to read some blogs! I wasn't just squeezing them in, I was luxuriating. I had time to en-not sure I can get this word out-en...I had time to enj-enjoy the morning?
You're shaking your head now. Is this girl serious? It's just a morning! An extra hour! Phah!
But it's not about the hour; it's about the sleep!
I enjoyed the day.
Irritants from the day before became bemusements. I had energy! I sailed through the work day.
And it made me think.
I talk myself into late nights. I do. I have so many things I want to do, books I want to read, shows I want to watch, novels I want to write. Blogs. More than that though, I like late nights. I like the quiet, the dark, like the long low sound of the train's whistle, the whist of its stop. I like the stars (when I can see them), the subtle easing of the heat in the summer, the chill in the winter, the way my blankets become a cocoon, my chair a nest as I drift through late-night viewings of my favorite shows (can we say Netflix?). I like the way words will sometimes work for me, the way my fingers find them on the keys without my knowing precisely what to say. I like the night.
But maybe, just maybe, I like sleep more.
Thoughts to think on.