The Wee Hours

It's too early to speculate on the gifts of the pandemic, but I already have a candidate in mind. It's sleep! Glorious shut-eye. Hours of deep slumber. With no need to commute, there has been no reason to wake up at 5:30. And for the last seven months, there has been even less incentive to burn the pre-dawn oil.

Or has there been? I love these early hours, and I've missed them lately. 

So today when I woke at 4 a.m., I tried for a while to drift back, as I usually do, but when that didn't happen, I took it as a sign and rose for the day. 

It's not even 6:30 and I've had great gobs of time to read, write and otherwise fritter away the day.

In the wee hours, the world is my oyster. 

Morning Thought

For someone who doesn't always sleep through the night, I'm always grateful to wake up, glance at the clock and see that it's truly morning, not some middle-of-the-night hour. (Glancing at the clock is necessary now as the light dwindles. I did it this today since it was still dim at 6:30.)

It strikes me often, though, that the gratitude I feel upon finishing a seven- or eight-hour snooze ought to carry over to the four- or five-hour  variety, as  well. After all, I usually drift back, and when I don't, there is always something relaxing I can do: read or write or pick up a dream thread and follow it back to its source. 

William Arthur Dunkerley said it best: "Thank God for sleep! And when you cannot sleep, still thank him that you live to lie awake!"

Almost Bedtime

It's almost bedtime here on the second-to-last day of full-time employment. Perhaps I won't have bedtimes in this new life. I'll live so freely that I'll be beyond diurnal schedules. 

But I doubt it. I imagine I'll wake up pretty much the same time as I always do. And, truth to tell, I'll be doing much the same sort of things, too — writing, walking, reading. 

It might sound boring to many, but oh my, not to me!

Bedtime Stories

The voice is melodious, measured, often accented. The intoned words are taking me out of myself, out of the self that tosses and turns when it awakens at 3:30 or 4:20 a.m.  They are shifting my thoughts, turning them toward the drama of others. They are reminding me that the world is large. 

In my arsenal of sleep-inducing weapons I have a new favorite: Audible. I had tried using the recorded books program to this purpose more than a year ago, when I first discovered it, but I had not yet figured out the "Sleep" feature, which allows you to set a timer for anywhere from five minutes to 120. On that occasion, I lost about 30 minutes of the book and had quite a time finding my way back to the place where I lost consciousness

But now, I can set the timer to 10 minutes, certain that, even if I do fall asleep before it runs out, I will easily find my way back. No light to flip on, no pages to fumble through. The darkness of the bedroom preserved. I can plug in, listen to, and drift off as someone reads me ... a bedtime story. 

Early to Bed...

Last night, I was in bed reading before 9 p.m. with lights out before 9:30 — which means that when I woke up at 4:30 a.m., as I often do, I gave myself permission to rise and start the day. 

This led to what felt like a revelation: does this mean I should always retire so early? Am I more of a lark than I think I am? 

One morning does not a lifestyle change make. So for now, I'm enjoying today's head start and hoping I can keep my eyes open long enough to have dinner!

Sleepless in America

It was raining last night, hard at times. It pounded the roof and formed a curtain of sound between the house and the world. It seemed to be washing away all that had come before, including the presidential debate we had just watched.

I thought it would be difficult to sleep, but exhaustion and the sound of rain on the roof carried me away for five hours, when I awoke chest pounding, thoughts ricocheting. No need to go into those; let's just say they weren't pretty. 

But there was one consolation: Last night, I imagine, I was not alone. I can only assume there were legions of us tossing and turning. Last night, I suspect, it was the exception rather than the rule to be sleepless in America. 

Good Morning

A morning rinsed and spun-dry, cleansed by thunderstorms in the night and a cool breeze in the morning. Whereas yesterday was about humidity and heavy possibility, today is quick on its feet, ready to move into the month, into this strange new almost-summer that is upon us.

In the garden, the irises are prepping for their appearance, narrow buds on the Siberian ones and plump buds on the others. The inside birds are singing in the brightness, having spent some of yesterday with heads tucked and wings folded. They are like little barometers. You can almost mark the weather by them, so tied are they to the world outside.

As for the mammals in the house, they have slept late, as they are wont to do these days.

(I snapped this photo about 10 days ago, when the dogwood and azaleas were still in their prime.) 

Night Air

Last night the heat slaked off enough to open the windows, so that cool, fresh night air poured into the house. I fell asleep to the sound of a whirring fan.


It was like another place, the house with night air. Like a place that is part of the world it inhabits rather than separate from it.

The cicadas and crickets were singing their songs, and their music contributed to the feeling of aliveness in the house.

In the old days, we almost never used the air conditioning. But it comes in pretty handy these days, and I no longer roll my eyes at it. I accept the comfort it makes possible.

Still, the best sleeps are those without it, the ones when night air fills the house.

Soporific

Last November, I took the National Novel Writing Month challenge and produced 54,000 or so words of fiction in 30 days. The idea is to punch out a draft, and punch it out I did. But at the end of the month I tucked it away on my computer hard drive and barely looked at it again.

Until my recent getaway, that is. Curious to see just how bad this thing was, I opened it up, held my breath and started reading. And I learned that, well, it wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be.  Which is not to say that it's ready for the New York Times bestseller list — or for any eyes other than my own.  But it has a couple of likable characters.

This morning, I discovered that the novel, which I call For Sale, has another attribute.  I'd been trying to read myself back to sleep for almost two hours without success. But after 10 minutes of For Sale I was out like a light.

Perhaps this could be a marketing tool. Watch out, Ambien, here I come!

A Diller A Dollar

I miss reading Mother Goose rhymes to little people, but this morning it was almost like I was reading one to myself.

Into my mind, unprompted, came these words:

A diller, a dollar, a 10 o'clock scholar
What makes you come so soon?
You used to come at 10 o'clock,
But now you come at noon.

I know why this nursery rhyme suddenly came to mind.  It's the first day of my vacation, and I slept from 11 p.m. till 9 a.m.

The feeling, like the nursery rhyme, is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. And, like both, it is much fun.

Lighting One Candle

It's a strange sensation to lose electrical power in the middle of the night. Already dark and quiet, it might almost pass unnoticed. But I happened to wake at 4 a.m., perhaps missing the whir of the fan. When I glimpsed my darkened bedside clock, the silence suddenly made sense.

It was not just the deprivation of darkness, then, but a deeper lacking. Did I feel it somehow, drifting as we were without power through the night? I think so. My own small reading light seemed an insufficient candle to counter all that darkness. It gave me light enough to read by, though, and the evening was cool enough that I felt drowsy again before long.

Just as I began to drift off, a large truck chugged its way down the street. It was the power company. They were on it. I fell back to sleep lulled by the purr of the big truck's engine.

Give(ing) Sleep a Chance

Lately I've been giving sleep more of a chance. When I wake up at 4 a.m. I don't always rise to start the day. Instead, I read or lie still and concentrate on breathing in and out. In other words, I try harder to add those elusive sixth and seventh hours to my nightly tally.

This may take time. It may be getting light by the time I finally drift off again. But I persist.

The other way, the way of wakefulness, is good too. It opens up hours in a life that seems to never have enough of them. But things are brighter, sharper, clearer, with those extra two.

By the way, this is a tip of the blog to the 1969 John Lennon song "Give Peace a Chance," which I found out this morning was recorded ... in bed.

Zzzzzz!

I'll try to make tomorrow's post brisk and wide-awake and forward-looking.  But today's is ... a celebration of slumber.

That's because, though I've done a bit of visiting, baking, cleaning, reading and movie-watching these last 10 days, what I've done most and best of all is sleep.

This is not an insignificant achievement, since sleep is something that often eludes me in the normal course of events. Faced with a slew of hours to fill, I'm glad I've filled many with early bedtimes, late mornings and even a three-hour nap!

I've enjoyed waking up to light, not darkness; to knowing there's no Metro to catch or work to do. As January 2 draws nigh, what I will miss most about these lovely, end-of-year days is the ability to roll over and catch some more winks.

Fear and Trembling

The rain has stopped and the crickets are singing. A crescent moon winks between the trees. I've just lured Copper up from the basement, his sometime home this rainy summer. He spent the night in a thunder shirt, which keeps his trembling at bay.

Watching his fear of rain and storms intensify with age has taught me a thing or two about fear, about the way it takes a body over and will not let it go.

Easy enough to say, "Don't worry, little guy. Nothing's going to hurt you." But harder to prove, and he knows it.

I keep all this in mind for my middle-of-the-night wakings, tell myself what I tell him. I don't believe it, either.

Found Time

Sometimes when I wake early I think it's because there is something I need more than sleep. That something would be time.

I've never been a prima donna kind of writer. I fold personal writing into my day: dashing off a post before dawn, scribbling thoughts in my journal on Metro. I have no backyard cabin or artist's garret (I wish). The living room is my "office," and my writing time is whenever I can find it.

Still, there's never enough time. So every week or two I don't fight the early waking as much as I might. I come downstairs and grab the two hours or 90 minutes or whatever scrap of time insomnia has given me — and use it to read and write.

I might start the day a little tired, but I've filled a greater need. I've lost sleep — but I've found myself.

Alarmed Dreams

Lately I've been sparing myself one of life's annoyances — I've not been setting the alarm. This is because I wake early anyway and must be at the office late. But this morning I was back to the familiar insistent beeping. An early dental appointment requires the utmost punctuality.

One difference between non-alarmed and alarmed wake-ups is that dreams seem closer to the surface with the latter. This morning's was, ironically, that I had missed the very dental appointment I woke up early for. There was no real reason supplied, just inertia, lack of interest — which, if you're going to miss a dental appointment is an excellent reason to do so — but my subconscious was not buying it.

So here I am, still groggy, needing to leave in half an hour. Because if I don't, my dream will come true. And not in a good way.

Late Arrival

First there is the wakening, slightly panicky, the feeling that something is not right. Next, a peek at the clock. After 2 a.m. Surely she should be home by now.

Should I get up and look out the window? If the car is there I'll rest easy; if it's not, I'll be awake till she gets home.

Last night it was the latter. A late arrival, but not much later than my wakening. I fall back to sleep, happy and grateful.

The morning after the late arrival is another story: Bleary and disbelieving. How can it already be day?

Sleep Week

It is with no irony — only earnest good intentions — that the National Sleep Foundation has set aside this week, March 2-9, as National Sleep Awareness Week.

The irony, for me, comes from the fact that this coming Sunday we "spring forward" into daylight savings time, losing a crucial nighttime hour. It's a lost hour I notice mightily, since I live on the edge of sleep stability.

But no, the professionals say, this is exactly when you should be doubling down on best bedtime practices — sticking to a sleep-wake routine, exercising daily, avoiding naps, creating a cool, dark, comfortable sleep environment.

What happens when you do all these things and still wake up at 4 a.m.? It's hard to find much on the National Sleep Foundation website about that. But I have some ideas.

Reading, writing — even blogging, perhaps?  There are worse things.

Mental Map

What wakes the mind before the body is ready? Does sleep’s string snag on a jagged dream?  Whatever the cause, suddenly thoughts are spinning again.

There is only so much one can do when unconscious. Best to seek its return as quickly as possible. Shift from back to side, flip the pillow to find its cool undercoat. Seek the trail of breadcrumbs back to oblivion.

As Hansel and Gretel discovered, though, breadcrumbs are not reliable. Pebbles work better. They gleam in the dark; they light the way home. 

Best of all, though, is to memorize the way. To have a mental map and follow it.

Cleaning Up

As one who routinely gives short shrift to sleep, cutting corners whenever possible, I read the newspaper article with great interest. Reporting on a study published in the journal Science, the article said that new imaging techniques have allowed researchers to better understand how the brain cleans cells during sleep.

Apparently, the space between cells expands while we're snoozing — which gives a network that drains cellular waste from the brain more space to flush out the toxins.When we sleep less, the brain can't go about this housekeeping function as efficiently — and toxins build up. No wonder my head feels foggy the morning after I've slept five hours or less.

This finding explains the restorative nature of sleep and may also help scientists better understand Alzheimer's and Parkinson's diseases.

All I know is, I've gone to bed earlier and slept later ever since I read the article. And that's a good thing.