Can somebody please explain this to me? If I sleep from 2 am to 10 am, eight hours, I wake up swinging for the fences, feeling great. But if I sleep from midnight to 8 am, also eight hours, I’m dragging massive ass all day and trying to stop myself from building a chin-to-desk drool bridge at work. Why? What in the honey roasted hell is going on here?
It’s the up-early thing that gets me. If I climb off the platform during or before Good Morning, America, I’m screwed. And it has nothing to do with George Stephanopoulos, that sawed-off little puke. It’s just the time of day, for some reason.
Years ago, when I was a tan and rugged young toll collector, I worked rotating shifts: one week each of days, evenings, and overnights with two days off in-between. And I don’t remember it being a big deal. I could switch it up, slice ‘n’ dice, and collect those quarters like a champion. But today the tiniest alteration of the schedule destroys me. Even if I have to go to work one hour early, I feel it. It’s as if my IQ has been reduced by 20 points, and I have trouble pulling up the right words, etc. If I had to work a rotating schedule at this point of my life, I’d undoubtedly go full-Slingblade and start living on nothing but potted meat.
But, I’m doing it. So far I’ve stuck to my plan of sleeping from midnight to 8 am, and being in front of my computer from 9 am to 1 pm, trying to wring as much production out of each day as possible. I know it’s only January 5, but it’s one day at a time, goddammit. Today I posted at Suggestaholic for the first time since October, updated the Bunker Cam and Further Evidence links, changed my Goodreads status, and wrote this questionable-at-best Surf Report update. This shit wouldn’t have happened in December, my friends. Of that, I’m certain.
It’s still a struggle, though. Yesterday was close to a bust; I worked on the new book, but it was like trying to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of a spent tube. Today is the best day so far, but still not great. I’m assuming it’ll get better? Things will eventually normalize for your corpulent correspondent? How long? What’s the gestation period for something like this? Help me out, won’t you?
Also, how many hours of sleep do you require, before you hit a state of diminishing returns? I think I need seven, but wasn’t always getting it. I still think it’s a ripoff that we need to sleep at all, but whatever. And… what have you done to get a BETTER night’s sleep? Maybe a mattress manufactured after the Clinton Administration? Do you think that would help?
I need to call it a day, my friends.
As a very annoying person used to say to me all the time, see ya on the flip!