I am normally not one to compromise a good 8 hours of sleep. I have been known to fall asleep in movies when we catch the 10pm show. I have also been accused of being too grouchy to be around when said 8 hour goal has not been achieved. Sleep makes me happy and I could do it all day if there weren’t things to tend to. I track time the way my dog Louie watches for table scraps. But in the last few weeks it has been a bit of a battle just getting to bed. Too many things left to do and the list just grows and grows like a weed. By the time I’m finally under the covers I find myself having mini panic attacks as I count in one hand the number of hours I’ll get to sleep before the room floods with light and hustles me back to my feet.
It only just dawned on me that my neurotic counting of the hours had stopped. It’s a quarter past one with T-6 hours before my alarm goes off. And while I have the option to turn in for the night at a reasonable hour today, I choose to stay up and decant my thoughts with you. But it’s not forced like it had been for a while when Eddy or Vicki would want to hold late night meetings to hammer out things that needed hammering out. Of course the second cup of coffee helps, and I think it’s mostly the effect of being wired half the time. But it’s beginning to feel more natural, this getting less than 8 hours of sleep club.