Yesterday I made a few finger-exercises, wrote a blog post, then went to bed without publishing it - a good idea, as I saw when reading it again in the cool morning light (yes, it was early).
At the moment the morning air often has a very refreshing and cooling effect on my ideas or worries or projects I developed at night.
Normally I sleep through. Not at the moment, though I tried to follow all those well-meant tips from health-gurus for getting the sleep you NEED: the word alone makes me fret - can't sleep worrying about the amounts of sleep I NEED - yes, scientists explored it for the umpteenth time at a university in *** - though to read their simplistic stats MIGHT make me sleepy and drowsy, - better than a cup of Horlicks + the added bonus of Barbara Pym. (I like her - don't misunderstand me - but I find her very soothing too...)
There is a lot of dry humour in her novels - but maybe not everone will see it - as Tom wrote in a comment on my comment on innuendo (my sort of) - he said that maybe Google can't understand it (or were it the English men? Can't remember - but no: that can't be, as extensive field research by Dear Me showed in clear results: they Do understand. So he must have meant Google).
Being quite chirpy at night, I feel like Lewis Carroll's Dormouse in daytime. Maybe I'm a victim of "spring fever" - is that the medical term - or is it "springtime lethargy"? (Too lethargic to look it up). Lethargy, I feel, is right here, cuddling me in his soft grips - though spring is still nearing. The air changes: some soft notes lure and purr under the crispy cold in the morning, and the singing of our alpha blackbird is getting even more combating and challenging.
Well - I think I shall publish my blogpost quickly. Now. Otherwise - if I sleep about it over night, the cooling effect of the fresh morning air tomorrow will nipp my Darling Buds of May again.
Well: we only have March. Might go to a Mad Tea-Party. Visit the March Hare.
"You might just as well say," added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, "that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing as 'I sleep when I breathe'!"
"It is the same thing with you," said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped (...)
PS: "You shouldn't make personal remarks," Alice said with some severity: "it is very rude."
Right she is...
Didn't I write this post a couple of months ago?
ReplyDelete"I haven't the slightest idea", said the Hatter.
ReplyDelete"Nor I," said the March Hare.
'Who's making personal remarks now?' the Hatter asked triumphantly
ReplyDeleteDear Britta - it seems our sleep patterns change as we get older, I used to sleep the sleep of the just, but sadly no longer.
Dear Rosemary, that was the expression I was looking for: "the sleep of the just" (I first wrote 'but I have a good conscience', but skipped it because it sounded a bit cryptic).
DeleteThe quotes are so wonderful - also the rude ones of the caterpillar.
I too find sleeping a little more difficult now - drifting off takes me an age - I can't seem to shut down the old brain box.
ReplyDeleteI have no problem in drifting off, but if I wake up in the middle of the night (well: 3 o'clock), my brain starts to rattle too.
DeleteI loved every Barbara Pym novel I read--and it's quite possible I've read all of them, and agree, she's great company when preparing to go off to dreamland.
ReplyDeleteI think I also have read all of them - and I even translated one of her fascinating short stories - for an anthology about Women Detectives, which a good publisher bought from husband and me ("Your Case, Miss Pinkerton!") - I still remember the wonderful sentence "Decidedly Catholic".
DeleteI may see you at the Tea Party. I visit often. They understand me there.
ReplyDeleteOh Emma, you really made me laugh - I like this sort of party!
DeleteBritta: I am very fortunate. I was blessed with a 200-year life span, and I plan to sleep the second hundred.
ReplyDeleteJJ, that is a fascinating new way to tackle the problem - and I will try to find out if I can get that 100-year-bonus too!
DeleteI find memorizing word-puzzles before bed, then solving them in the dark, most conducive to sound sleep. Jumbles are a favorite: "roospiirfc", for instance, conks me out before I can untangle "soporific" out of it.
ReplyDeleteDear Geo., if I start with riddles as complicated as the above mentioned, I fear "they come and take me away, haha"... even when I start at three o'clock to think whether an Italian word is rightly remembered or not, it starts to feel like a "testo" and my "testa" swirls, adrenaline fuels -- bye-bye sleep...
DeleteMy youngest granddaughter found Alice about age eight, and quoted her for months.
ReplyDeleteJoanne, that is another proof of how clever she is. I like the way L.C. plays with language!
Delete