No blogging activity from me over the holiday season—not much activity, period, actually.
I’m now convinced that my screwed-up-sleep-pattern problem isn’t monumental jet lag, as I’d earlier thought, but rather, sleeping sickness or narcolepsy. The minute I achieve anything approaching a “normal” schedule—work plus a potluck, which I managed on Monday (it was a gathering of the folks from my Russian class, and my lazy potluck contribution was a tin of holiday cookies sent to us by R’s sister), for example, the next day I’m spent from the moment I get up.
On Christmas Eve, I woke up at a decent hour, ran errands—gathering up festive foodstuffs and other holiday goodies—watched a DVD and … zonked out. At 4 p.m. I had to go to bed, where I immediately fell into a deep, deep sleep from which R had a hell of a time rousing me (I swear, a bucket of cold water was coming next). When I finally hauled my ass out of bed—we were due at some friends’ for holiday dinner—I was dopey and dull, and once again my head started to droop at 9 p.m.
The same thing happened on Christmas Day. I managed to stay in bed until 8 a.m., had to work for a couple of hours—from home, thank God—opened gifties, went to the movies (Rabbit-Proof Fence
), had Christmas dinner, watched the Sopranos
season finale, and … my eyes closed. I fought it for a while (which wasn’t doing anybody any favors, since my personality became that of a tired 2-year-old), but I was fast asleep by 8. On CHRISTMAS DAY! Despite the fact that I wanted to get stuck in to some of the great new books I’d received as gifts, or listen to my new CDs, or eat some leftovers, or just not be so damned boring.
At 3:30 this morning, my eyes were like saucers. Looking on the bright side, one good thing about this aggravating affliction is that I’m shockingly well-informed. Once I’d heard Morning Edition
all the way through, I listened to News Hour
on the World Service, got up and read Slate
’s “Today’s Papers
” on my Sidekick, and headed off to Victrola to read the Times