Perchance to Dream
My friend Will once game me some advice about sleep, back in high school when he was a sage senior and I just a naive sophomore. He commented that if he couldn't get to sleep at night, there was just no sense in lying awake and staring at the ceiling. If he felt awake, he'd give himself fifteen minutes, and if he didn't fall asleep (or feel he'd made any progress toward doing so), he'd get up and do something useful.
I very rarely end up going to bed and feeling too awake to doze. I'm not a good napper, but at night, I'm one of those lucky people who falls asleep fairly readily. If I find myself so awake that I'm just staring at the ceiling, I look at the clock and give myself those fifteen minutes. If I'm so awake that I remember to look again fifteen minutes later -- or I look and see that only two minutes have passed when it feels like an eternity -- I get up (as quietly as I can, so as not to disturb Twostripe or Bug) and head downstairs to the office. There's always more work to be done. But if I can't sleep, I figure, hey, I'm borrowing time that I've already allotted for something. It's time to write something I want to write.
The last time this happened, I wrote the first half of "Missing Mary," which I still haven't finished (because, sadly, I've been going to bed late enough this week that I've been sleeping quickly and soundly, right up until Bug decides she needs late night comforting or early morning food). A few days later, I thought it would happen again, but found myself out cold for an hour-long nap I hadn't scheduled into my day.
Sleep is a good thing -- the body needs to recharge, and so does the brain. But when it doesn't come, I don't chase after it. I'd rather be writing.
I very rarely end up going to bed and feeling too awake to doze. I'm not a good napper, but at night, I'm one of those lucky people who falls asleep fairly readily. If I find myself so awake that I'm just staring at the ceiling, I look at the clock and give myself those fifteen minutes. If I'm so awake that I remember to look again fifteen minutes later -- or I look and see that only two minutes have passed when it feels like an eternity -- I get up (as quietly as I can, so as not to disturb Twostripe or Bug) and head downstairs to the office. There's always more work to be done. But if I can't sleep, I figure, hey, I'm borrowing time that I've already allotted for something. It's time to write something I want to write.
The last time this happened, I wrote the first half of "Missing Mary," which I still haven't finished (because, sadly, I've been going to bed late enough this week that I've been sleeping quickly and soundly, right up until Bug decides she needs late night comforting or early morning food). A few days later, I thought it would happen again, but found myself out cold for an hour-long nap I hadn't scheduled into my day.
Sleep is a good thing -- the body needs to recharge, and so does the brain. But when it doesn't come, I don't chase after it. I'd rather be writing.