Never one for easy progress without impediment, I identify almost entirely with morning larks and night owls, leaving afternoons to crash and burn, a rhythm perfectly suited for summer when long siesta’s are not only common at Les Pierres but temperature wise unavoidable, but evidently more challenging in winter, when the bed is the warmest place in the house and as such enduringly enticing.
Looking back so far I must shamefully admit to have deliberately underestimated the literal healing powers of sleep as the biggest provider of clear mindedness and the fittest body possible, to have always negotiated additional time awake per day, to have notoriously nibbled at bed rest and regularly skipping sleep all together when I was young and brainless. In my mind there’s just too much to behold in life, to process and portray, to not be persistently conscious and present, an argument impossible to sustain given my susceptiveness of abundantly obfuscating my awareness with intoxicants, although one could argue fortification in that too: if you drink enough sleep will eventually take over, no matter how headstrong you’ll fight it.
I must have witnessed my mother falling asleep in front of the television a gazillion times, her favorite shows pointlessly raging past, her claiming to have heard everything when waking her up after it was over, she had recognized the perpetrator from the start so there was no need to pay visual attention, me little pipsqueak, how could I not understand? I truly didn’t, teasing her elaborately with her indecencies, childish behavior now ruthlessly chastened by Ivory repeating this game, because after a lifetime of sleep deprivation and a predisposed gene pool I never can keep my eyes open for anything, to his chagrin because my missing out leads to detrimental delays in binge watching and even earlier go-to-bed times.
The broken nights of the past weeks because of doggy bathroom breaks have had their repercussions too, but fortunately Mec has quickly developed a bladder big enough to help him through, so there’s nothing pressing me to wake early anymore. Oh, but those damned sunrises, exposing different magic each time.
Who am I kidding?
