It’s 3:30 and Nathan is snoring away beside me. I’m wide awake. Seriously. I always fall asleep right around 10-11, unless I’m shooting and then I’m wired until about 10 minutes after the event ends, almost crash, buck up for the drive home and then hit wired again. Perhaps I should insist all events occur 10 minutes from my home. Anyway, back to my narcolepsy. I have been teased mercilessly for the fact that no matter where we are or how much fun we’re having, by 11, I’m ready for bed. Ask our friends, nearly all of them have either had me curl up on their couch in the middle of a lovely visit and sleep until Nathan is ready to go home or at least witnessed my absolute social wussiness. Hell, John and Megan expect to find me on the couch, completely out while a rousing ping pong tourney lives it up in their basement. They comment when I’m NOT asleep.
Sometimes I feel bad about it. Like last week, Sara and I were having a lovely conversation at her dad’s house. Unfortunately, I happened to be on the sofa and as the conversation continued and the witching hour neared (and it comes an hour early there. Thanks time zones), I began to involuntarily lean toward the arm rest and the cushion resting upon it. Next thing I know, Nathan is suggesting it’s time for bed and Sara has long since given up and gone to her room for a proper night’s sleep.
I also can’t eat fast food on road trips. Hell, just being in the car puts me to sleep now. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I’m not sleeping enough in the house. I can be wide awake, and then I get in the car and the overwhelming urge to nap takes over. And that’s without leaving the driveway. I’ve worked past it by maintaining an unhealthy level of stress. I’m always afraid I’ll be late unless I’ve given myself at least an hour to get anywhere. That’s the Atlanta talking. But no amount of stress or caffeine (which consumed anywhere outside the car makes me giddy and giggle until the crash, but consumed in the car provides a healthy jitter that keeps me rolling) can counteract a Jr. Bacon Cheese Burger off the Wendy’s 99 cent menu. Even Chik-fil-a, when not giving me incredible heartburn, lays on the snooze vibes. It’s worse than sleepy kitty vibes.
None of this explains my sudden turn to night-owldom. I really enjoy mornings. I love getting up early, having some tea, taking a walk or doing some yoga, checking email, facebook, blog, etc. and knocking a dozen things off my to do list by lunch time. Of course, I haven’t been so good on the first two, and with my fancy phone and laptop, I can do the next several while still in bed. Sadly, it doesn’t matter how much I accomplish in a day, if it doesn’t happen before noon, it feels as though the day was unproductive.
So why am I still up at nearly 4? It could be that my internal clock got screwed up during our holiday travels. We went pretty far into Central time, you know… I’m still on New Orleans time. It’s only 3 there. I doubt the sleeping until 11 (through 3 alarms) helps, but that’s only because I was up yesterday until 6.
I fear there is only one solution (which I won’t enact tonight due to a busy day tomorrow–all afternoon, thankfully). I must stay up all night until I fall asleep the next day at a more reasonable time. I almost did the other night, but I grabbed 3 hours of sleep between 8 and 11 and felt great all day. I also got a fair amount done in those wee hours of the morning before I hit the sack.
Maybe I’m a stay up until morning person. End my day at sunrise with a brisk walk, a hot cup of tea and the beginning of a good day’s sleep… Or maybe I’m just reading too many vampire books…
