OH my GOD, this is such BULLSHIT.
Insomnia.
Formerly known as the regular time I used to wake up when I had a job.
However, now as a woman of leisure and the boss of me, I fully expect my body to milk every drop from the 8-10 hours of sleep I like to get. Yes, EIGHT to TEN hours.
My Type A, over-achiever self - let's call her Barbie - fought my tumble into teenage levels of slumber for well over a year ("Get up! It's 7am! The sun's up! OTHER people are starting their commute, the least you can do is start your day! Think of all we can doooo!"). Then, one day... I slept until 11...
I woke up that gorgeous morning half-ashamed and half-elated.
Even when I pulled all-nighters on set, my inner clock was hard-wired to not sleep past 10a. My entire adolescence had been an exercise in how I could entertain myself while the rest of the girls at the slumber party slept til 11. (No joke, I usually cleaned their rooms. That's why moms LOVE me.) In college, I was the girl that worked the morning shift from 7-noon to come home and find my housemates just staggering out of bed at 1p. Every boyfriend I've ever had (Hi, all two of you!) could be dead to the world until after noon unless I poked and prodded them out of bed to their not-so-secret annoyance. I'd been a morning person for so long, it was part of my identity EXCEPT...
I evolved. It started with 11a the first morning. The next day, Sleep won out until near 1130. I continued that way for not long. Decades of mornings plus Barbie and Igor berating me led to a happy medium of a 9ish, 930ish wake-up for the last few months.
I don't remember what sleep was like when I would pop out of bed at the crack of dawn. I think I was blind to how wonderful, decadent, and nourishing it felt, because now? Even when I've been in bed for so long that Barbie and Igor throw their collected hands up in disgusted surrender, I revel in the languid pull of my pillow. I bask in my mattress as it holds sway over me. I leave Sleep like it's the best lover I've ever had: slowly, grudgingly, and always willing to do it a little more.
Don't get me wrong. I love being awake, too. I seize the day and smell the roses and all that crap but I DO IT BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 930ISH AND LATE.
This is why insomnia enrages me. I SHOULD BE ASLEEP. Even Barbie - who I finally beat into a 9am submission - is appalled we have to be awake right now. FOR NO REASON.
So now that I'm upright - because as good as my bed is at seducing me to stay and doze, when I can't sleep its a goddamn torture chamber of tangled tentacle sheets with a down comforter albatross - and fired up, I have no other choice but to start my day and be <groan> productive.
Somewhere in my head, Barbie perks up. "We're staying up?! Let's clean! You wanna write some more? We need to do a demon post! Or we could go grocery shopping! Ooooo, what time does the car wash open..."
Insomnia.
Formerly known as the regular time I used to wake up when I had a job.
However, now as a woman of leisure and the boss of me, I fully expect my body to milk every drop from the 8-10 hours of sleep I like to get. Yes, EIGHT to TEN hours.
My Type A, over-achiever self - let's call her Barbie - fought my tumble into teenage levels of slumber for well over a year ("Get up! It's 7am! The sun's up! OTHER people are starting their commute, the least you can do is start your day! Think of all we can doooo!"). Then, one day... I slept until 11...
I woke up that gorgeous morning half-ashamed and half-elated.
Even when I pulled all-nighters on set, my inner clock was hard-wired to not sleep past 10a. My entire adolescence had been an exercise in how I could entertain myself while the rest of the girls at the slumber party slept til 11. (No joke, I usually cleaned their rooms. That's why moms LOVE me.) In college, I was the girl that worked the morning shift from 7-noon to come home and find my housemates just staggering out of bed at 1p. Every boyfriend I've ever had (Hi, all two of you!) could be dead to the world until after noon unless I poked and prodded them out of bed to their not-so-secret annoyance. I'd been a morning person for so long, it was part of my identity EXCEPT...
I evolved. It started with 11a the first morning. The next day, Sleep won out until near 1130. I continued that way for not long. Decades of mornings plus Barbie and Igor berating me led to a happy medium of a 9ish, 930ish wake-up for the last few months.
I don't remember what sleep was like when I would pop out of bed at the crack of dawn. I think I was blind to how wonderful, decadent, and nourishing it felt, because now? Even when I've been in bed for so long that Barbie and Igor throw their collected hands up in disgusted surrender, I revel in the languid pull of my pillow. I bask in my mattress as it holds sway over me. I leave Sleep like it's the best lover I've ever had: slowly, grudgingly, and always willing to do it a little more.
Don't get me wrong. I love being awake, too. I seize the day and smell the roses and all that crap but I DO IT BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 930ISH AND LATE.
This is why insomnia enrages me. I SHOULD BE ASLEEP. Even Barbie - who I finally beat into a 9am submission - is appalled we have to be awake right now. FOR NO REASON.
So now that I'm upright - because as good as my bed is at seducing me to stay and doze, when I can't sleep its a goddamn torture chamber of tangled tentacle sheets with a down comforter albatross - and fired up, I have no other choice but to start my day and be <groan> productive.
Somewhere in my head, Barbie perks up. "We're staying up?! Let's clean! You wanna write some more? We need to do a demon post! Or we could go grocery shopping! Ooooo, what time does the car wash open..."
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