I really hate giving up on things. But as I sit here, half past five p.m. in a haze, I am calling it quits.
After 11 days of the two-sleep experiment, which was supposed to run 30 days, I have to stop. This morning during a lecture, I said one thing to the students while writing the opposite thing on the whiteboard.
Which would have been a really cool trick, had it been intentional.
Perhaps this “natural” sleeping pattern is tapping into my creativity, but unregulated creativity is not particularly helpful in the world.
Not my world.
E. described the past days as beginning well, but deteriorating each day. He hasn’t felt creative, just increasingly stressed-out.
I have lived the past 5 years or so with a pretty good routine. I run and get at least a half an hour of writing in before leaving for my day job that begins at 8. This past year, my partner and I have also tried to make sure that we dedicate time each day to be together in the same room, actually paying attention to each other.
What began as a way to address my insomnia and to free up time for peaceful, quiet contemplation (which I sorely miss, having had experienced it o the plateau this summer), became a fractured, anti-social, and military-like schedule of alarms and interruptions.
I am celebrating the end of this experiment with a glass of wine, frozen grapes, and Dr. Bronner’s Oh-So-Holy Soap for body and soul. Lavender.
I’ll be in bed at nine-thirty and up at four: happy to greet the pre-dawn as my good-ole, familiar, insomnia-plagued self.
A pseudo-scientist has to know when to call off the experiment for the sake of the health and well-being of the subjects involved. It is best for everyone.
Imagine: I might even stop snapping like a turtle at every gadfly on social media.
I just might begin blogging for real.
What I will take with me?
The darkened rooms, and the candlelight after 8 pm.
A warning for anyone with bipolar disorder. Do not do this. That is all.
Talk to your doctor.