[A minor note before I go off the deep end from the profound to the absolutely mundane – to anyone who read yesterday’s post over at Finding Ninee, thank you. To those who read and left feedback, I am humbled and honoured by all your kind words, your shared stories and your commitments to spread the word. It’s the best feedback you could give – that you’re going to help build Our Land.
Onward from the vital to the ridiculous.]
Anyone who knows me will know that I’m absolutely terrible at going to bed on (or anywhere near) time.
I spent years as a child flouncing ‘bed time’ rules as often as I could, in favour of staying up late and reading my beloved books. Sometimes, after every shred of light was gone from where I crouched, uncomfortably leaning over to the windowsill to create a breach in the blackout curtains (nice try, though, parents) I’d pretend I was feeling sick. I was pretty smart and didn’t do it too much, but enough that every 6 weeks or so I could take a chair into the bathroom and sit with a MASSIVE pile of comics, reading as though life depended on it.
On the odd occasion (in order to escape suspicion) I’d noisily pour water from a cup into the toilet bowl and make a big show of having been sick (“But I already flushed it away!”) so that I could secure my place in the bathroom (and so in the light, with comics) until my parents went to bed. Sometimes they’d even leave me there, emerging at 1am to tell me that I really, really had to go to bed now.
Since becoming a ‘grown up’ it has been my absolute pleasure to ignore any semblance of ‘bedtime’ and go to bed when I jolly well pleased, common sense be damned, often leaving me with the challenge of overcoming extreme tiredness the next day (5.00am bed with a 7.30am start, anyone?) but still, ultimately, thinking it was worth it.
Any sensible person will tell you it’s not.
Some of the more neurotic may even mutter darkly about ‘forms of self harm’.
Some of the slightly hippier persuasion might mention REM cycles and the ‘best’ two hours to be asleep, never mind (hushed tones now) sleep debt.
And every so often I would accede the point and tell Husby, Mum, WonderAunty, Sis, Christine, Patch, my SanFranFriend, my Explorer Friend (or whoever else was on my case at the time) that they were right, my consistent lateness to bed was a Bad Thing, and I’d make an effort. To be in bed by 2am. Or 1am. Or midnight.
And I’d succeed. For, like, a day. Two, tops.
The other night I was even vaguely pleased to have a stomach ache that would have made sleeping impossible, as I had an absolutely cast-iron excuse for staying up til 4.30am, didn’t I? Trying to sleep whilst
writhing in agony in large amounts of pain uncomfortable was hardly likely to be the smartest thing to do. Surely staying up distracting myself with the shiny, shiny internet was far better than lying in the dark aching and seething and wishing that I were playing Bejewelled?
I was blissfully asleep before 10pm, feeling (as I dropped off) pretty smug that I’d managed it – I’d listened to my body, I’d been sensible, I was paying back my sleep debt and whatever else often gets slung at me as a Good Reason. All was peaceful, visions of sugarplums danced in my head and I slept the delicious, uninterrupted slumber of one who has Done the Right Thing.
Until 3am, when I woke up ready to go.
For the next 3 1/2 hours until it was time to actually get up and go, I dozed fitfully, ended up lying on my front (which gave me backache, as it ever does), was too hot, too cold, uncomfortable whichever way I tossed or turned and had a completely miserable time.
Then I woke up with a cold, y’know, just to add insult to injury.
So tonight I’m staying up late and will NOT be called on it. Because apparently going to bed early isn’t good for me.
But there has been good news today (depending on your viewpoint).
I discovered that it is possible to take ‘selfies’ with an SLR (predictably bad) to show off my lovely new Star Trek insignia badge that Husby bought me as an ‘I love you’ present (yes, he’s awesome) aaaaaaaaaaaand I caved to peer pressure (actually no, it was flattery) and got a twitter account for the blog, upon which you’re welcome to follow me. At some point I’ll get the smartphone to go with it so I can do it properly, but for now I’m tied to whenever-I-can-get-on-the-laptop. It’s fun though, so I’ll stick with it until I get the tech or it drives me mad. Just think, now you can enjoy my excogitations limited to 140 characters!
|Pay no attention to the mess – I’ll get an Ensign to sort it out…|