Intermittent Sleep

Dearest Rachel –

It’s December, so it should be permissible to speak of Christmassy things now. Despite not getting out over the Black Friday portion of the holiday weekend, I’ve gotten a reasonable amount of gift shopping under my belt – although in fairness, the real challenge, our son Daniel, I’ve not yet started on; what do you get for one who claims to have all he wants (and what he doesn’t have, he can get for himself with more ease than just about anyone he knows)? Still, progress is progress; one must take one’s victories where one can, and endeavor to move forward where one has yet to.

On an unrelated note, apart from pertaining to the season, it’s now been two whole centuries since Clement Moore was visited by Saint Nicholas on that night before Christmas. I mention this because of his description of the evening as a time to settle down “for a long winter’s nap,” which is a reasonable expectation. The sun is down by four, and Daniel and I kept busy for a good five hours thereafter; why shouldn’t we be able to get in a long sleep? Especially when (more to his disappointment than mine) the internet blinked out, preventing us from watching yet another YouTube video as we wound the evening down together. As a result, I was in bed by ten (I can’t speak for him; he’s your boy, too, so you can guess what else he might have done in the succeeding hours rather than going straight to bed), with the assumption that I would get a full eight hours of slumber, and wake up refreshed and ready to take on this next day.

Alas, it was not to be.

To be sure, waking up in darkness was no surprise; it’s that time of year when the sun simply can’t be disturbed from its own, clearly more effective, attempts at slumber. Even with the time changed back so that it shines more of its light in the morning than the afternoon, it struggles to make its presence known by seven; by the time the solstice arrives, even eight o’clock will be a challenge for it. So one has to expect that the morning won’t look like morning at first.

But when I got up at what seemed to be the middle of the night, and myopically peered at the clock, I was shocked as to how accurate my assessment of the time really was. Indeed, it wasn’t even midnight yet, but rather eleven-thirty, a fairly useless time of night. It would be one thing to sleep solidly until about four in the morning, say, when the gym opens; I might be willing to get that onerous part of my day over with (especially since I had skipped out on doing so yesterday, having slept in until past seven, and having too much to take care of at the ‘office’ to come in too late). But there’s nothing to do, nowhere to go – and Saint Nick isn’t about to raise any clatter on this night (not that he comes to our house in any event – his visits are reserved for the folks’ house, after all) for me to investigate at this hour.

There was nothing for it but to use the washroom and try to get back to sleep, a challenging proposition in our bedroom, I’m afraid. Every year, I forget how to turn on the wall-mounted space heater in here, and as a result, the place is something of an ice cube unless one is bundled under enough “reindeer skins.” Then again, as I recall from last year when I did manage to get it up and running, it seemed to not be on speaking terms with the thermostat, and as a result, warmed the room up to uncomfortable levels in its own right, wasting gas in the process. I’ve bought a couple of inexpensive portable heaters (one is still in transit), and hopefully they will make up for its mercurial nature, but for now, I will find myself struck with the more-than-occasional case of the shivers, even as I lie under several layers of coverings, hoping I’m at least burning a calorie or two in the process. So returning to sleep isn’t an instantaneous thing.

Worse yet, you’ll recall my comment about four in the morning? Yes, well… my conscience did, and somehow managed to stir me awake yet again just a little bit before four. Still chilly, still not rested, I was in no mood to bow to its will just yet (although, like you, I can’t just lie there when momentarily awakened; I have to use the bathroom yet again. Probably shouldn’t have had three refills of no-sugar cola with dinner).

It, on the other hand, was not satisfied with getting me up for a quick trip across the hall and back, but stood by my bedside, impatiently waiting for me to do more than just pull the covers back over myself, hoping that this third time to bed would be the charm I needed to get sufficient rest for the upcoming day (despite not having nearly the docket I had yesterday, so I could take things a little easier this time around). Since it couldn’t get my body to respond as it wanted, it decided to take another tack, and fill my mind with most of the contents of this letter, compelling me to get up and get it written down before it disappeared from my synapses.

So here I am, up and out of bed before six – although I’ll still not be dragging myself out of the house until at least six-thirty (if for no other reason than that it takes time to get this all written down for you). I can probably think of more worthy reasons to be ambulatory at this hour – although maybe you’d be just as happy to hear from me, despite the somewhat grudging tone, for which I apologize.

In any event, as I set out to take on the day with this intermittent level of sleep, I’ll ask you, as usual, to keep an eye on me, honey. Oh, and wish me luck; I’m pretty sure I’ll need it.