Plague Diaries, Issue 40: April 21, 2020

I know, I know. By the time you read this, it's no longer 21 April. Hell, by the time I post this, it's no longer 21 April. For the first time since quarantine began, I've lapsed in my diligence in attending to a daily blog post.

The reason should shock none of you...it all boils down to sleep. As in, sleep is very problematic right now. I've been staying up until wickedly late hours; sleeping in until a sinfully late time. (My midwestern ancestors would have shunned me off the farm for this.) I nap for lengthy stretches at all times of day, which then keeps me up later. When I do try to go to sleep at a decent hour, I spend an inordinate amount of time awake, praying to the ceiling gods, and remembering the ducks that used to waddle past my apartment in college. (That, at least, is not out of the ordinary. I think of those ducks often. I don't know why.) And then when I do get to sleep...the dreams. Dear god, the dreams.

Finally, in the past couple of days, it all caught up to me, and I zonked out on Tuesday night at 8:15 pm. I awoke at sparrowfart (AKA 6 AM) today, and briefly enjoyed the dawn chorus, and reveled in the feeling of getting a solid amount of sleep, within conventional hours. Will this help kick-start me back into a normal sleep cycle, whereby I tumble into bed at midnight, think of the ducks for a few moments, and then go to sleep and dream about kittens and the wildly inappropriate romance of my late adolescence/early adulthood (both of which are regular guests in my usual, non-pandemic dreams)? One can only hope.

Meanwhile, it's amazing what one can get done when they awaken at sparrowfart. More on that later.

This fool's solution to sleep issues: He just tries to never wake up!