Tuesday, February 4, 2014. It’s quarter to three in the morning, and I should be sleeping; but Facebook, Words with Friends, Candy Crush, Pet Rescue, and good old Dr Pepper are keeping me awake, as usual. I try to get on a normal person’s schedule, where one sleeps at night, stays up during the day, and actually accomplishes things. But, if I do happen to be able to sleep a night or two, the following night, I am just not sleepy at bedtime. So, I end up crawling into bed a couple of hours after my husband goes off to work, and sleeping throughout most of the day. When I wake up, at around 2 in the afternoon, I drink two or three cups of coffee to chase the “groggies” away, and it’s suddenly almost time for my husband to get home, and I haven’t gotten anything done around the house.
My husband, on the other hand, does everything on a schedule. His day starts at 3:30 am. He dresses, gets his coffee, & watches the news, until time to leave for work at 4:30. Even his bowels are trained to a schedule, like Sheldon of The Big Bang Theory! He’s home every day at 4:30 pm, and watches a movie, then, takes a 2 hour nap, rather than eat his supper first (his preference). He’s in bed by 9:30 or 10 pm every night, to start the whole thing over again the next day. He does this six days a week, year in and year out. On Sundays, he takes his nap at 1:30, and eats supper around 7 – 8 o’clock. Then, he hits the hay around 9:39 or 10, as usual.
I don’t know why the idea of a schedule is so abhorrent to me, personally. I just can’t imagine myself being so regulated. I would be totally bored on such a schedule. To me, life holds a kind of innate, mystical excitement. I suppose I harbor a rather deep-seated belief that something interesting and exciting is likely to happen at any moment, especially when I’m asleep. So, if I sleep at a regular time, the mystical “dispensers of life’s exciting experiences” will somehow slip one past me, and let the anticipated event occur without me, at a time when I’m sleeping. So, to avoid that dreaded omission, I have to outsmart these minions of excitement by sleeping at odd hours, so they’ll be more likely to “let one fly” while I’m awake.
I recall that children are like that. When my daughter was little, she used to not want to go to bed for the same reason: she thought she’d miss something. Children at that age are like little sponges, soaking up the details of the world around them. And everything is new and exciting. I guess I’ve never really outgrown that feeling myself!
So, am I being childish and immature? At 62 years old, I don’t think that’s the case. I think I’m just going to interpret this quirk in a kindly, self-indulgent way, and say that it means that I’ve never outgrown my childhood curiosity. It has given me a lifetime love of learning new things, and what’s wrong with that?
At my age, it just boils down to the fact that I still just don’t want to miss anything. I don’t know how many days, or months, or years are stretching out in front of me, and I really don’t want to miss anything, or sleep at all! But, that’s not practical or healthy. So, maybe I’ll consider a compromise: sleep less. After all, I’m not as active as I was when I was younger, so I don’t wear myself out. Therefore, I don’t need as much sleep as I did then. So, I suppose I should content myself with 3-4 hour naps, sprinkled throughout a 24-hour period, rather than expecting to sleep all the way through the night. Sounds reasonable!