Once upon a time, I began my mornings around 3:30 or 4. I'd have a vat of coffee with Splenda (this is why I no longer use artificial sweetener) and translate like a motherf*cker until 9, when I'd head off to class. Each week I had five classes of my own (each met three times), three classes and three sections of the class I TA-ed, research for my advisor, and daily exercise. I always made time to exercise. I didn't make time to have friends, but I did stalk a very cute coffee guy at the Tuesday farmers' market, and I pretended that I knew the patrons who sat at my favorite cafe. I'd cook a small dinner in the evenings, work for a few more hours, and then I'd head to bed around ten, though I made sure to read one short story before sleep, just so I wouldn't lose all sense of propriety.
While I don't reminisce fondly about this particular interlude, I do frequently marvel at my former self. So driven! So regimented! So diligent!
I was just coming off this schedule when I met n.o.c., and six hours of sleep seemed like the ultimate frivolity - a selfish and slothful waste of time. Then we spent a solid month sunning ourselves and sleeping when the mood struck, and - *SHAZAM!* - that driven, regimented, diligent person decided that she was done with that shit, threw her book bag in the trash and cracked a beer. Last I heard, she was tanned like luggage and slinging cocktails in a seedy South American bar on a dangerous but beautiful stretch of beach.
Lately, I've been sleeping a lot - going to bed around 9:30, getting up around 6:30. I love it. In fact, it feels so good that I wonder if I might be happy just sleeping my life away. When I think I've finally gotten my nap out, I find that I can easily sleep for several more hours. I don't feel badly about this, although I do suspect that I'm being judged by some past me. I also feel a little duddish and phlegmatic when I come across someone like this, who is inhumanly productive and probably sleeps less on purpose so that she can do more. But, I was never into computers - or anything profitable, for that matter - so there's really no sense in comparing apples to wildly successful, techy oranges.
At the moment, I spend most of my time reading, writing, cooking, and sleeping. I'm basically a literate cat with culinary ambitions. And I think that's fine. I think. For now.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Jamie Oliver's dad used to squirt his 6 year-old self with a hose through his bedroom window when he was getting a little shut eye, yelling "sleep is for the dead." Poor Poppa Oliver. He just doesn't get it.
I'm with you. I love a good slumber. If you ever wanted to curtail lengthy sleep, though (and I'm certainly not suggesting it), get some chickens. They need at least 14 hours of daylight to lay eggs. I have to get up every morning, no matter what, at 7 and let them out. Sometimes it sucks royal arse, but most of the time, I like the motivation. Since getting them 1 1/2 years ago, I've only gotten back into bed twice-once because I was sick, and the other time, well, the hair of the dog wins all.
I'm seriously considering some chickens, particularly the kind with wild mohawks and funky, furry feathers. In fact, the Duchess of Devonshire is my current idol: http://cgi.ebay.ph/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=350205419602
oof. i'm with you, but writing and translating aren't my passion.
i used to make art. to take on a large mural was all in a day's work in those times. i would stay up til all hours painting underwater worlds in my kitchen. or crafting adorable comics detailing the comings and goings of a well-jellied piece of toast. or painting a photo-realistic artichoke cross-section.
but now these days are over, and i'm not sure why. it makes me sad sometimes. do you think it's possible to return to that productivity? maybe i'm too old and tired and preoccupied and deteriorated.
sigh. and now i'm that one that's rambling.
Post a Comment