by Jean Roberta
It’s a good thing I don’t know anyone who sells crystal meth, the stimulant that can apparently enable a person to stay awake for days. (But on that note, my two stepsons are musicians who sometimes d.j. in nightclubs, so they are probably less than six degrees of separation away from someone who sells every consciousness-altering substance there is. I’m just saying.)
The older I get, the more I love sleep. Unfortunately, sleep interferes with all the other things I need or want to do. Teaching, meeting with students after class and grading assignments all have to take priority over activities that don’t pay, but writing feels necessary too, especially since teaching is a hit-and-miss activity: not all students seem to gain anything from the classes I teach, and those who do might have been able to educate themselves without my help.
There are never enough hours in a day, and I always seem to be running behind. This is why sleep seems like a guilty pleasure.
I sometimes tell myself that sleep is good for my writing because the images I bring back to consciousness from the land of dreams can be inspiring. Part of my mind doesn’t buy this, since I shouldn’t have to sleep to exercise my imagination. And thinking of exercise, wouldn’t it be good for me to find time for zumba, yoga, or a fitness class?
If I didn’t indulge in at least eight hours of sleep per night, I might lose weight. (Of course, as has been mentioned, this is not always a sign of good health.) How can I justify sleeping when a local election is coming soon? I should be going door-to-door, circulating pamphlets and pep talks for the political party of my choice.
On the other hand, sleep is hard to resist, especially when my sweetie is beside me, and we are surrounded by three purring cats and a little dog. Sweetie agrees with me that hibernation sounds very appealing, especially on cold days in winter. Usually we seem to perk up in spring (and the weather has been very spring-like lately), but we still like to spend much time in bed on weekends, not having marathon sex.
Well, I’m awake now. I can probably soldier on until it’s bedtime again.