the letter z: plural
There are lots of things I could or should be doing right this very minute. I’m traveling for work, so there is an endless list of client tasks I could be cutting into. Well, not endless. Long. Long enough that it would spill onto the back of a page if anyone used the backs of pages anymore. I even promised my client—the company’s CIO—that I would do one of the things on that list tonight. And I will. Probably. Just not now. Because I’m doing this.
Also, Game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals is about to start. So, I’ll be doing that, too. And this.
Some people call “this” writing, and sometimes it feels like writing. Tonight, it feels like emptying my brain onto a screen resembling a piece of paper. Through my fingers. Think about that for a minute. My fingers touch little rounded rectangles on a board in a particular order and it makes words appear. Don’t think too long or you might find yourself late for a very important date.
Why am I doing this? Well, for one, because it makes me happy. And I think more people should do the things that make them happy. Unless those things make other people unhappy. That’s what my Gram always told me and she was my favorite person ever.
The other reason I’m doing this is because I just read an old blog from one of my other favorite people in the history of my existence. I’m not just saying that because she writes blogs, too. She is super cool, brave, loads of fun, and I wish I was more like she is in lots of ways. And I hope to someday co-author a novel with her. And yes, I am shamelessly and publicly buttering her up so she’ll say yes.
Anyway…
She wrote a pretty compelling piece back in 2012 about the benefits of sleep. I obviously didn’t pay as much attention as I should have, because I’m not sleeping right now. In truth, I’ve slept a lot this week. Last night, I was already asleep at this time (it’s 7.30pm). Mostly because I had a fever and while I have no supporting research to cite, (you all know me… research is not my thing), I feel like my body fights fevers better when I’m asleep. But I feel a little better tonight. Add that to the aforementioned hockey game and that writing makes me happy, and here I sit. Writing.
I hope one day that sleep will make me happy. I know people like that and they’re… well, I guess they’re happy. And happy is better than sad (I’m fairly confident you don’t need research for that one). Did you ever notice how many people smile when they sleep? I used to think it was sex dreams. I guess that’s possible. But what if it’s just happiness from the sleep leaking through their faces? I can’t prove I’m right. But then, you can’t prove I’m wrong, either. Or maybe it is sex dreams.
Here’s a question… Are people who sleep more, happier? Or do happier people sleep more? I guess that’s two questions. But what are the answers?
I used to be one of those people who rarely slept. In fact, I still have that reputation among many people I know. And it’s still sort of true, but not nearly as true as it used to be. I blame (or credit) the increasing time span between today and the date on my birth certificate. But if I’m being honest, I really do feel better when I’ve slept. More alert. More productive. More attentive. Unless what people are saying bores the crap out of me. Then skip the last one. Basically, all the conclusions people spent millions of dollars of other people’s money to study and report on are true.
I haven’t evolved (a.k.a. aged) enough to do the afternoon nap thing. Unless I’m sick. Or day-drinking. But I’ve made a few changes that result in a handful more consecutive Zs in my nights.
For one, I don’t flip through the channels on the TV to see what long lost episode of Law & Order I might be missing if I go to bed. That’s an easy one, though, because Law & Order is always on. Always. But even if it wasn’t, there’s no more flipping. I just press the power button, hit the lights, and close my eyes. I don’t always fall asleep right away, but I am resting. And I think rest is almost as valuable as sleep. Someone should do a research study on that.
The second thing I do is put work away. And by “away” I mean out of reach. My work computer isn’t allowed in my bedroom, let alone the bed itself. And once I’m nestled into bed, the last thing I want to do is get up and walk to my “office” to finish something the person I’m sending it to won’t see until morning because he or she is already asleep. Hopefully, smiling. For whatever reason.
And the third thing (because I like things in threes) is that I limit my after-hours work time (including weekends) to the battery life of my computer. When I get the low battery warning, I save and shut down. No exceptions. Unfortunately, this one isn’t as effective as it once was because computer batteries last longer these days. But it does impose a hard stop on my work. And this may surprise those who still think I’m some sort of sleepless cyborg, I more often than not expire before the battery. Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks after all.
There you have it. I sleep more now than I used to and I don’t feel guilty about it. The lack of guilt just piles on to my lack of gold jewelry, sports cars, and a damned near complete inability to grow facial hair longer than the mangy stubble currently adorning my face as compelling evidence that I am the least Italian Italian person you’ll ever meet. Seriously, I have female relatives who can grow a better beard than I can. I have pictures. But I won’t share them. That would be insensitive.
So, Leslie, about that book… what do you say? Sleep on it and let me know in the morning.
Cheers!
