One of the casualties of my supercharged, overwrought July was the very expensive treadmill I bought earlier this year. Or rather, my neglect of the treadmill was the tragedy. The treadmill is just fine, but Iíve tended to skip more and more days as the work thing got more intense. And now itís almost become a habit to give myself a pass on the treadmill any morning I donít feel quite up to it.
That covers a lot of mornings, since Iím such a long way from catching up on sleep. Today for some reason I woke up at what I would consider an early hour, although most people would think differently. But most people werenít still awake at three in the morning, either. Early lasts a long, long time for my people, we who suffer from Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. (Iím so glad thereís a name for it, and the treatments range from melatonin to cannabis. Iíve tried one; maybe I should give the other a shot.)
Something messed with my circadian rhythm and woke me up earlier than early today. And that led to a sluggish day when I kept falling asleep with my Kindle in my lap (and I donít actually blame the new Joyce Carol Oates book for that, but it could have been a factor), or in front of the TV showing the rain-soaked race track in Montreal (and Iím not sure why anyone thought it was a good idea to race in the rain, since the drivers couldnít see where they were going and the cars couldnít stay on the track).
Anyway: frequent short naps were the order of the day. They didnít help much, and Iíd really like to sleep a little later into the earliness tomorrow.