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The Muses (or somebody like them) decided to wake me this morning with this entry in my mind. One takes what one can get, especially at 430 in the morning.     Spo

Expergefactor [n.]:  something that wakes you up, such as an alarm clock or some outside factor like birdsong or the back up of a delivery truck. 

This Saturday morning I woke at 430AM and figured, what the hell, let’s put the kettle on and do the dishes and some paperwork until Someone rises and we go visit Uncle Albertsons.  Thirty years ago I considered 430AM was ‘the middle of the night” as I stayed up until one am and rose no easier than ten.  Father had a different sleep/wake cycle, probably European time, and thought his children’s sleeping on Saturdays a sign of laziness or pathology. It had to be remedied lest we boys degenerated into crazed sterno-bums.  It took three decades but the goal is accomplised: I now sleep and rise likewise.  My twenty year old self would be horrified to know I have turned into a morning person.* Such is life. I tell my patients for good sleep one should always rise a the same time everyday, regardless how you slept the night before.  I rise every day at ~ 5AM even if I don’t want to.  Harper, who likes her morning walks,  is my fail-safe expergefactor.

When dating a potential partner one should find out sooner than later about the ‘deal-breaker’ traits like ‘do you smoke?’ and ‘do you drink?’ and ‘what is our religion (or lack thereof)?’ and finally ‘do you eat Swedish fish?’, but I would add “when do you sleep?”.  Someone can sleep in when he wants, lucky fellow, and he finds it bewildering/annoying I ‘have to get up” so early on weekends. I learned quickly not to repeat Father’s rituals to rouse the slugabeds sleeping soundly on Saturdays with cheerful but assertive ‘there’s  work to be done!”.  No indeed!  By the time he wakes a few hours later I’ve done a handful of tasks albeit quiet ones lest I disturb his slumber. Aren’t I the thoughtful one. 

This morning on Facebook I left a comment with a friend who lives in North Carolina.  She replied: “shouldn’t you be asleep?” A fair question. I should but I am not. If I stop trying to be twenty years old again, it doesn’t matter when I sleep and how much, provided I wake feeling refreshed. Harper agrees and Someone can go sleep in the guest room if necessary. 

 

Spo-fans: when do you saw wood?

Does your bunkmate have similar sleep/wake hours?

Are there ructions about sleeping in?

 

*Turning into your parent is the primal scream of youth throughout time. It’s rawther Freudian.

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