E. suggested calling these wakeful hours “the midnight hours”, but that only lead to a host of earworms over the course of the day.

At one point, considering something I wanted to write, I caught myself thinking, “I’m gonna wait ’til the midnight hour.”

This is the sixth night of waking at midnight, to write and read and take the old lady for walk if she’s in the mood. It’s very difficult to sort out which quirks of the day are related to the Biphasic Sleeping Project, and which are just life in general.

In reality, at the moment, I can’t imagine much else as boring as blogging about sleep. The strangest thing so far (regarding the project) is that it is Friday night and I am treating it like a weeknight – with plans to rise at 5:30 for a run. When I was sleeping 9.30-4.30, I never did that on weekends. I would stay up until 11 and roll out of bed at 8 or so.

Yeah, I know, I’m a wild one.

I am not sure how this is going to affect my writing. This week I finished the final edits on The Elephants Have Been Singing All Along, and went over Lodén’s (great) translation. I should be knee-deep into another project by now; up now, dancing with a muse.

Don’t they say that if you build a routine, create a ritual, the muse will just show up?

Well, right now, there’s no one else around.

Who knew there were so many songs about midnight?

20160722_175130Knowledge is knowing that there is a difference between the undulating black mounds of the lichen, and those of the frozen moss.

It is knowing that the latter will provide you with a good grip on the smooth granite, and the former, a swift fall to your ass.

Wisdom is knowing that,
with knowing that,
it’s my own fault when I fall.

It’s kinda simple.

And what goes for the lichen and the moss? That goes for people, too.

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Five days filled with the immediate moment, the eternal present. Now.
No question: negotiating the  wild is a form of meditation.
If your mind wanders, your feet get wet in the snowmelt, and that’ll bring you back to the moment fast.

One of the disorienting things about being up at midnight (to write before the second sleep) is the way these 90 minutes are seemingly untethered from normal time.

14139337_337903373213924_369997056_oWhen I sit down, pen in hand, and begin to write the date in the upper left corner of a new sheet of paper, I am not sure what to write. Technically, it is tomorrow already. The events of yesterday, are – well – yesterday. But I will sleep again soon, and rise at 5 to run and “start the day”.

This is the 5th night of biphasic sleeping. The first of falling asleep easily. Maybe a sign that my body is learning what to expect in this new (or very old) pattern. But the weekend is coming, and with it the obvious anti-social aspect of this whole concept: to go out for a glass of wine after work will be like trying to shoehorn an elephant into a toolbox.

Who crawls into bed at 8 p.m. besides toddlers and hermits?

Will a month of routine reprogram the norm, so that a night without a first sleep won’t send my body reeling?