Dearest Rachel –
It would seem that things are passing much the way I expected them to. I keep waking up every morning, checking my phone to find out what time it is, and as always, it’s between two and three in the morning (Japan time). Of course, this means that, according to ship time, I’m waking up an hour later every day; by the time I get back home, I’m going to be hard-pressed not to sleep in until noon, at this rate.
But hold on… not so fast. This isn’t entirely due to my inability to adjust my circadian rhythm. Nor is it due to the fact that the theater was operating at a particularly noisy level last night, or that Daniel left his bedside light on while spending at least an hour (and probably considerably more) in the washroom, bathing himself – I’ve no idea how, by the way, especially without a bathtub. Granted, all of these factors may make some contribution, but I don’t think that any of them are the largest one, especially come morning – and especially considering how close we are to both the Arctic Circle and the summer solstice.
You see, back at home, our bedroom (can I still call it that?) has windows on three sides. And while they do have blinds on them, they’re still somewhat translucent. I can’t really sleep in back at home, except during the winter, when it’s almost always dark. Come summertime, I can easily be up by five and not think too much of it. This is just how we humans operate; we’re built to function better in the light. When we perceive it, we’re up and running; when we don’t, we aren’t. All of which should come as fairly self-evident to you and everybody reading over your shoulder.
Only – and this is a feature of many hotels, not just floating ones like the one we’re staying in – when I wake up at “two in the morning” (actually seven, according to ship’s time at this point, but still subject to change yet again some time today), it’s almost pitch black in the room, thanks to the blackout curtains between us and the veranda door. It’s just as dark in the room at the moment as if it were still two in the morning.
Now, that’s perfectly fine. We don’t have anywhere in particular to go on a day like this, after all. As far as we’re concerned, the only thing we’re really missing out on at the moment would be getting to breakfast; and as we’ve discovered that what’s being served, while more than varied enough compared to back home, is basically the same as any other day aboard ship, it’s not as if we’re really missing anything. Indeed, we’re actually still somewhat full from yesterday’s brunch, to be honest. The only thing I might wish I was out and about earlier in the day to deal with is my morning workout (since the treadmills fill up around the breakfast hour) and the launderette (I’m debating as to when to get our clothes washed; I know I’m not gonna have time once we’re in Alaska, stopping at one port after another every day).
But as long as the room is dark (and, to be fair, Daniel is still asleep, so I don’t really want to make any more noise or cast any more light than I have to), it’s just easier to roll over and do what I can to possibly fall back asleep rather than get up and do this or that like I feel I ought to. It’s so much easier to go about those tasks while the ship is asleep and the rooms are quiet and empty, but with room as dark as it is, it’s hard to get motivated enough to get up and get on with the day.
Now, you’d probably point out that none of these tasks are things that have to get done. I’m on vacation, after all, and I ought to act like I am. And I suppose that’s true, to a certain extent, but I can’t quite countenance myself lying around in bed that much longer once I’ve attained consciousness. If nothing else, there’s the fact that my spine is starting to have issues with this bed; it doesn’t want to be subjected to lying down in it any longer than it has to. But there’s also these emotional pulls of wanting to actually do certain things – and having been able to do them so much better when we were several time zones back.
And I’d probably be able to get started on the day more readily if the curtains weren’t drawn as tightly as they were this morning – and if they were parted a little more widely, Daniel would probably still be able to sleep through it all the same. I may just make that adjustment tonight, and see how it works out.
It’s times like this when I wonder how people function on a graveyard shift; setting aside the fact that many such positions (especially in 24-hour retail) are boring enough to lead to somnolence, how does one function in an environment that keeps telling you by its ambient nature that you’re supposed to be sleeping? One of these days, I’m going to have to ask Erin how she keeps up with that, because she’s been dealing with this for as long as anybody I know – and moreover, she seems perfectly content to live a life out of sync, temporally speaking, with everybody around her. Granted, that very situation is part of what makes it that much more difficult to talk with her in the first place, but I guess it may have to be done over the course of days of text messages. It’s not as if I’m in a hurry to figure it out, after all.
As for myself, I have an experiment to try out for tonight and tomorrow, especially since I’ve decided to put off the launderette for now. Keep an eye on us, honey, and wish us well; we’re going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 