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genderjumperBy all accounts I was a very well-behaved kid, except that I hated naps. The only babysitter who ever tried to enforce them was the eldest teenage daughter of our regular babysitter, who was kinda bossy and only filling in because her mom had to work. Most of the time, you couldn't get me to sleep; I'd just lay there and look at my surroundings until enough time had passed that I could get back up. Similarly, when my brother and I would get up early on weekend mornings, our mom would tell us to go back to bed because it was too early. This led to my favorite encounter with Granny L: I sheepishly awoke one morning and stepped into the kitchen. Granny was already up, as was her custom, so I asked, "Can I get up?" she grinned and said, "Looks to me like you already are!"
In elementary school, I was reliably a morning person, which led to responsibilities. Our stepdad would wake us up before his early departure, then I had to heat up Mom's coffee in the microwave and take it to her. Once I claimed the tiny add-on they used for storage as "my" room, I was entrusted with an alarm clock and we became latchkey kids. The blaring sound didn't bother me for years, until one day it did and I switched to the radio. I got pretty used to the routine and would wake up before it went off. When I'd emerge, I'd find my stepdad in the dark, nursing a cup of coffee. I remember him being so quiet and contemplative in those hours, I respected the peaceful meditation, but as an adult I realize he was probably just waking up. I also negotiated a later bedtime than my brother, but once exploited the TV in my room to stay up late and watch Beetlejuice (I was caught).
In middle school, I started later and learned to love sleeping in that extra little bit. The high school was too far away to walk or bike, so I again had to rely on rides until I could drive (but no longer had to keep up with my brother, as he dropped out). I started to have difficulty getting up so early, and even got docked my senior year for being late to too many band practices. I learned how to nap in class when I finished my work early, and sometimes got a killer kink in my neck, but I thought I had vivid dreams and always felt rested. Meanwhile my brother was starting to sleep all day, like our mom on weekends, and I learned that some of my friends had difficulty sleeping. I took it as an immense sign of trust whenever a girl felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of me, which happened with at least three people that I can recall (and one of whom I wasn't even dating -- I'm pretty sure they each had fucked up home lives, though).
I attended a lot of summer camps, especially before senior year, and may have lost my chance at a scholarship because I stayed up so late hanging out with new friends that I was irritable and unfocused during social tests the next day. The year after high school is kind of a blur: I got my own place and insisted my girlfriend move in when she kept fighting with her family. She was so depressed she couldn't get out of bed some days, and dropped out, but that was my first time reliably sleeping alongside someone. We had a ritual where she would lay on my futon while I switched it from couch to bed mode, and this extracurricular use eventually necessitated repairs.
At NYU, I had a really hard time studying and going to bed. I'd still get kinks in my neck or other sleep hassles, but I could usually come around and feel awake the rest of the day. College sweetheart was used to her routine and marveled at my ability to stay up late.
In D.C., my sleep just about got normal for the semester I lived alone. Our first apartment (college sweetheart would graduate and move in a semester after I finished) was near the end of the Green Line. Taking the Metro involved cramped parking, but when it became cheaper to drive in we found that every five minutes later we went in, we might arrive 10-20 minutes later. We tried to keep track of when Congress was in session (there was never traffic when they were in recess), but invariably forgot or suffered from small delays and standstill traffic. When we moved into D.C. proper, I could walk to sleep and once again reveled in the little extra time in the mornings. Over time, though, I started to stay up late, IMing and blogging and processing a lot of feelings of discontent, which drifted my work time later and later. By the time I left, there were mornings I didn't show until 10.
Back in Texas, I had free reign between jobs. I once again found myself surrounded by people with insomnia and/or trauma that affected their sleep. In these days, I bragged that insomniacs should hate me, because I could sleep -- I just chose not to! My night owl ways made it easier to manage multiple relationships, since most of the people I dated had 9-to-5s. The kinks in my neck got pretty gnarly, though, and I learned to tell if I was depressed by how much I was "drifting" late at night versus "anchoring". If I stayed up late writing, that was a great thing, but if I was just looking for a distraction or engaging in revenge procrastination, I knew I needed to check in with myself. This is also when I really cemented my texting rituals in serious relationships.
I always operated on a debit/credit system (which is supposedly not possible, but was my default through my 20s and 30s). When I really started to track my cyclothemia, inability to sleep 8 hours without suffering consequences was a sure sign of a mini-mania. I only slept more than a couple of hours extra when I was sick, though. Sleep became harder yet more important during caregiving, and I notoriously made things worse with my "meditation fuck-up", a creativity exercise gone horribly awry that necessitated teaching myself to silence my mind pretty much constantly for over a year; its original purpose was to fill the boredom for the 2-5 minutes it took me to fall asleep.
It took a few years in graduate school and the pandemic before I felt like I was truly sleeping a balanced amount. My nightly "minimum" went from zero hours (as in I could occasionally pull an all-nighter) to a mandatory four hours, then six. One year I bought a new pillow and slept in a position that caused me to snore and no one told me; I started antidepressants for a small benefit, but things resolved quickly once I swapped the pillows around.
Everything got a little more random and hard to track after my second case of COVID. I was pretty good at getting to the office job on time while it lasted, but only because I was pretty joyless anyway. The past couple of years, my summer wake-up time has started at 11, then drifted to 12, then 1. I've always been primarily a side-sleeper, which these days requires three pillows in intricate layout. I can only sleep on my back for about an hour at a time, but I've found it helps my musculoskeletal system regulate. Falling asleep is occasionally tedious (way more than 5 minutes) but not like today. The past 4-5 days, it's been muscle twinges and poke-y sensations and drifting off only to immediately wake up. I can nap alright, but if I nap too late... well, here we are.
I guess I'm tired enough to sleep. Need to come back and tag this.
In elementary school, I was reliably a morning person, which led to responsibilities. Our stepdad would wake us up before his early departure, then I had to heat up Mom's coffee in the microwave and take it to her. Once I claimed the tiny add-on they used for storage as "my" room, I was entrusted with an alarm clock and we became latchkey kids. The blaring sound didn't bother me for years, until one day it did and I switched to the radio. I got pretty used to the routine and would wake up before it went off. When I'd emerge, I'd find my stepdad in the dark, nursing a cup of coffee. I remember him being so quiet and contemplative in those hours, I respected the peaceful meditation, but as an adult I realize he was probably just waking up. I also negotiated a later bedtime than my brother, but once exploited the TV in my room to stay up late and watch Beetlejuice (I was caught).
In middle school, I started later and learned to love sleeping in that extra little bit. The high school was too far away to walk or bike, so I again had to rely on rides until I could drive (but no longer had to keep up with my brother, as he dropped out). I started to have difficulty getting up so early, and even got docked my senior year for being late to too many band practices. I learned how to nap in class when I finished my work early, and sometimes got a killer kink in my neck, but I thought I had vivid dreams and always felt rested. Meanwhile my brother was starting to sleep all day, like our mom on weekends, and I learned that some of my friends had difficulty sleeping. I took it as an immense sign of trust whenever a girl felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of me, which happened with at least three people that I can recall (and one of whom I wasn't even dating -- I'm pretty sure they each had fucked up home lives, though).
I attended a lot of summer camps, especially before senior year, and may have lost my chance at a scholarship because I stayed up so late hanging out with new friends that I was irritable and unfocused during social tests the next day. The year after high school is kind of a blur: I got my own place and insisted my girlfriend move in when she kept fighting with her family. She was so depressed she couldn't get out of bed some days, and dropped out, but that was my first time reliably sleeping alongside someone. We had a ritual where she would lay on my futon while I switched it from couch to bed mode, and this extracurricular use eventually necessitated repairs.
At NYU, I had a really hard time studying and going to bed. I'd still get kinks in my neck or other sleep hassles, but I could usually come around and feel awake the rest of the day. College sweetheart was used to her routine and marveled at my ability to stay up late.
In D.C., my sleep just about got normal for the semester I lived alone. Our first apartment (college sweetheart would graduate and move in a semester after I finished) was near the end of the Green Line. Taking the Metro involved cramped parking, but when it became cheaper to drive in we found that every five minutes later we went in, we might arrive 10-20 minutes later. We tried to keep track of when Congress was in session (there was never traffic when they were in recess), but invariably forgot or suffered from small delays and standstill traffic. When we moved into D.C. proper, I could walk to sleep and once again reveled in the little extra time in the mornings. Over time, though, I started to stay up late, IMing and blogging and processing a lot of feelings of discontent, which drifted my work time later and later. By the time I left, there were mornings I didn't show until 10.
Back in Texas, I had free reign between jobs. I once again found myself surrounded by people with insomnia and/or trauma that affected their sleep. In these days, I bragged that insomniacs should hate me, because I could sleep -- I just chose not to! My night owl ways made it easier to manage multiple relationships, since most of the people I dated had 9-to-5s. The kinks in my neck got pretty gnarly, though, and I learned to tell if I was depressed by how much I was "drifting" late at night versus "anchoring". If I stayed up late writing, that was a great thing, but if I was just looking for a distraction or engaging in revenge procrastination, I knew I needed to check in with myself. This is also when I really cemented my texting rituals in serious relationships.
I always operated on a debit/credit system (which is supposedly not possible, but was my default through my 20s and 30s). When I really started to track my cyclothemia, inability to sleep 8 hours without suffering consequences was a sure sign of a mini-mania. I only slept more than a couple of hours extra when I was sick, though. Sleep became harder yet more important during caregiving, and I notoriously made things worse with my "meditation fuck-up", a creativity exercise gone horribly awry that necessitated teaching myself to silence my mind pretty much constantly for over a year; its original purpose was to fill the boredom for the 2-5 minutes it took me to fall asleep.
It took a few years in graduate school and the pandemic before I felt like I was truly sleeping a balanced amount. My nightly "minimum" went from zero hours (as in I could occasionally pull an all-nighter) to a mandatory four hours, then six. One year I bought a new pillow and slept in a position that caused me to snore and no one told me; I started antidepressants for a small benefit, but things resolved quickly once I swapped the pillows around.
Everything got a little more random and hard to track after my second case of COVID. I was pretty good at getting to the office job on time while it lasted, but only because I was pretty joyless anyway. The past couple of years, my summer wake-up time has started at 11, then drifted to 12, then 1. I've always been primarily a side-sleeper, which these days requires three pillows in intricate layout. I can only sleep on my back for about an hour at a time, but I've found it helps my musculoskeletal system regulate. Falling asleep is occasionally tedious (way more than 5 minutes) but not like today. The past 4-5 days, it's been muscle twinges and poke-y sensations and drifting off only to immediately wake up. I can nap alright, but if I nap too late... well, here we are.
I guess I'm tired enough to sleep. Need to come back and tag this.
