whoooooooo’s (h)owling at the moon?

Why, that’d be moi. I’m a night owl.

A night owl (h)owling at the moon like that wolf a bit too much of late.

Not that I can’t stay up until 3, 4, 5 o’clock in the morning, easily. I can. Do. Did, last night, well, technically this morning.

Easy-peasy as it is to be up as folks are typically rising or heading to work, there’s a price.

a. I lose sleep. Meaning I don’t get the 7 or 8 hours sleep by slumbering ’til noon or 1. I still stir around my usual 10:15-10:30-ish. A sleep return of 5 hours at most. Disturbed slumber. Not particularly deep or sufficient or restorative.

Along with losing sleep, I lose my daytime rhythm. Sense of well-being. My sense of balance and alertness. My mental and emotional processing speeds take a hit too. Studies on the effects of sleep deprivation abound. They’re real. The effects I mean, not the studies {though ya hope those are legit too!}.

The 4 a.m. hour is my bewitching hour. By then, my second wind, begun about 2 a.m., winds down, signaling it’s time to hit the hay.

If I’m not proactive, if I don’t switch off the light and put head to pillow, the third wind of the night will catch and sail me into the 5 or 6 o’clock hour.

Then I’m wasted, I’m toast for that day and the 2-3 following — aka days of recovery from an all-nighter. I ain’t 22. In these golden years, there’s no instantaneous bounce-back. There’s drag-back. As in look what the cat dragged back from his nocturnal alley adventures.

The nighttime wiring is intense. Even in childhood, it was challenging to get me to wind down by the assigned bedtime.

(Ohhhhhhh yeah, I had an assigned bedtime all right, my dad was inordinately strict about that and all things. When he dictated 9 o’clock, it was 9 o’clock. Not 9:01. Not 9:05. 9.)

Were it not for the early rising required by school or piano practice forcing my nocturnal nature into morning operations, I’d-a been in the back yard howling at the moon!

My dad and his mother were night owls; likely there are others on the paternal side. My mother’s side – early-bird-gets-the-worm folks. They rise around 5 or 6 because they want to. Not because they have to. Not because they’ve got a flight to catch like I’d need to have. For them, up at dawn feels natural, good.

I can only ask: “Are we REALLY related?!?” Ask that quite a lot of my mother’s side actually!

Anywho, my bedtimes this week are becoming progressively later and it’s not good. First 2 a.m. — a reasonable bedtime Then it became 3. A couple days ago 4 a.m. Now 5.

I’ve got to somehow half the momentum; how is to be determined. It’s a slide symptomatic of sleep all outta whack (as it’s been pronouncedly since 2012, when my father passed). Sir Insomnia has been a constant companion, Mr. Sandman seldom seen.

And because I refuse to jump on the Overmedicated America bandwagon — moreover, I share NONE of the American zeal for chemicals and prescription drugs (wouldn’t touch ambient with a 500-foot-pole) — I’m to achieve the sought balance through natural methods.

Reckon tonight I’ll cozy up to this lil’ lady, “Val.”



For I fear that otherwise in a week I’ll be forgoing the herb for a razor:

aaaaahhhhwhooooooooooo. where's the hair?!

aaaaahhhhwhooooooooooo. where’s the nair?!


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