I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

Remember that annoying habit I wrote about a few weeks back? (Of course you do, being the responsible party you are who frequents my blathers with fevered interest.)

I have another. But this one doesn't bother anyone but me. And it doesn't really even bother me, if I'm being honest. 

It's insomnia. I know, not a habit per se but it happens so frequently it might as well be. I'm used to it. It happens, it's going to continue to happen and I'm living with it. Contentedly, I might add.

Truth be told, it's been more a help than a hindrance. I get a lot of reading in ... and that's always a good thing. (Because fact: There's a lot out there to read.) I have continual writing duties which need my attention. Might as well get to'em and get'em out of the way as they crop up. I'm up and awake anyway. That way I'm ahead of the game, right? Win win. 

The thing is I've often functioned on little sleep. I guess it's going on 20 years, probably more. It isn't an odd I'm up and running with a scant 5 hours beneath my belt. I work until midnight, I'm usually somewhat wired when I get home and it's rare I can immediately turn in after walking through the door. A couple hours of "wind down" time is not unusual. And, yes ... it catches up with me after a month or so. I'll crash for a good 10 hours or more when my body internally screams at me to "Stop it! Stop it! You're killing me!" 

It's not that I don't like sleep. Sleep's a good thing. But it isn't the be all, end all for me like it is for other people. I'll often take productivity in some way, shape or form over slumber at those times. No sense lying there trying to get back to sleep and failing miserably. After all, you can usually sleep; you can't always get done what needs to get done in a timely manner. 

I remember the days when weekends were looked forward to so I could sleep in. It wasn't uncommon on a leisurely Sunday to drag myself out of bed at 11:00 in the morning when I was younger. Those were the days when there was less to do (*snort*), when I was more carefree and, important to me at the time, when I simply didn't care. 

Maybe that's why I can't sleep like the dead any longer.

I might just care too much ....

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

You'd think that thing would, you know, get tired of listing to one side ...