I’ve recently discovered that if I lower the shades in my apartment, I can game another hour of sleep with Rocky, who is ten and a half year old pug, and still, wakes at 6:30am. In my child-free days, the only times I was ever up at the time in the morning was because I was still up and out from the night before, or I had a shoot. Being up at 6:30 is anathema to me, and yet, for the last ten years and a half years, I’ve been dragging myself out of bed, following Rocky into the kitchen, where his meal awaits him. And once awake, there’s no going back for me, I can’t lay back down in my bed or the couch, close my eyes, and off I run with Mr. Sandman. No. No, I’m not that fortunate. I’m awake. My day begins. I walk him, I sit on the couch with him, I blog with him beside me. I’ve begrudgingly adapted to this lifestyle, for his sake. And so, while my mother was in town, the shades were drawn, the heat overwhelmingly for my Mom, even with the air conditioner on, and I left them as they were so as not to aggravate the quality of my mother’s day-to-day which consists of, when she’s visiting, puttering about, opening and closing drawers and closets, cooking, snacking, napping and finding memes to Whatsapp me. I’d been sleeping on the couch during her visit, and on the first morning after her arrival, I realized: I’d slept in! It was 7:30, Rocky was still snoring beside me, and HOLY SHIT it was 7:30. The same thing happened the following day, and the one after that. It was on that third day that I’d put it all together: with less access to the rising of the sun, my dear dog would not stir. It’s the wide open access to the light of day that heralds his internal clock, the one that said, “Girl, it’s time for you to get the eff out of bed and feed me.” So. Now I sleep with the shades drawn, and I sleep until 7:30, and yes it feels decadent, and yes I am relishing in that additional hour. Sleep, the great elixir.
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