20140618.0900

One of the things I can do because I am at Sherwood Cottage alone is sleep in. I did so today, evidently because I needed the rest, and I was glad of it. But there is danger for me in doing so. Given that I do my best work in the morning, when I sleep in, I see less morning, and so I get less work done. Much less. And I am not sure why; it should not matter when I work if I am at my best when I wake up. Yet it does, somehow, almost as if I partake in some ways of the Arthurian Gawain, whose strength waxes until noon and then fades away again. (I would hope not to partake of him in other ways; he has...problems...with women. And with anger.)

That I need sleep, I acknowledge; I could hardly not. Yet I am not fond of the need for it, such that I would rather not need it just as I do not need beer but imbibe and enjoy it. I could get much more done, I think, did I not need to stop for several hours out of every twenty-four and do nothing but rest. When I rest waking, I usually do something else along with it, typically reading or some such thing (although I am behind on my reading, I admit). I take in knowledge and ideas, as I ought to do, instead of laying out with eyes closed and mind still for--what? I have noted that I rarely dream, or at least that I rarely remember dreaming. Healing, perhaps.

Yet I am enfleshed, and as such, I am subject to the weaknesses and frailties of the flesh. I have evidenced such weakness more than once, and I will not rehearse the litany of that evidence here. Among them is the need for sleep, which I know not all see as a weakness. Indeed, my wife enjoys sleeping, which confuses me but which I accept as part of her and try to respect (although I do not always do well in it). How Ms. 8 feels about it, I am unsure; it is not as if she can yet tell me, but I note that she sleeps much and deeply. The cats, when they are not expressing their opinion of my writing via expressing their bowels, sleep much and lightly; I have to think that they find it a useful way to pass time.

I suppose it is, for those who have nothing better to do. I would rather have a book or a (metaphorical) pen in my hand than my head on a pillow. (I would also rather have a pint in the other. Beer in bed is a bad idea.) There is always work for me to do, if I will do it (which I admit I will not always do). Even did I work on it all day, every day (which I do not), I would not get done all there is to get done. If I must sleep, then, let it be so that I can do more and better when I wake.