Sleepy

When the alarm went off at 6:15 this morning all I wanted to do was go back to sleep, but another urgent matter called me from my cocoon of warmth. I got up, took care of all biological needs, turned the thermostat up to 64 and hopped back into my cooling bed. I don't usually use an alarm clock, preferring instead to get up when I wake naturally...or until I can't sleep any more.

I laid under the covers getting warm and knowing the snooze button was about to run out and the alarm would scream at me to get up. Why the urgency this morning? I needed to get up and clean house because I had company coming at about 9...or so I thought. Didn't take very long to get everything straightened up but I do tend to leave house cleaning to the end of the week, which conflicts with my work schedule this weekend because I have two clients to finish work for this weekend. I'm much better at night, more energetic and more likely to get things done when I'm not tired from being up at the crack before dawn...and I heard the crack this morning.

Right now I'm yawning hugely and anxious to get back to bed for a little (all right, a long) nap. But I can't go back to bed. I have company...sort of. The landlords are staining the south side of the cabin and at the rate they are progressing they won't be done by dark. They have covered my wall of windows with blue tape and brown paper and the sun can't get thru to my plants or to me to keep me energized enough to stay awake. I'm like a sunflower on days like this, turning my face and body toward the sun to bask in the warm glow. Not today. I feel more like a potato that becomes poisonous with the touch of the sun.

Maybe I should change the music. Evocative and romantic songs are not conducive to any kind of hard-edged productivity. But all I want to do is sleep.

Luckily, the landlords will be out of here tonight and I will have my sanctuary back. I can turn my favorite music up as loud as it will go, take off all these clothes and get comfortable again. I can leave dishes in the sink for tomorrow and slouch into my favorite chair in the bedroom with my feet up and dive back into Cold Mountain or Mattie's manuscript. You really don't know how precious silence is even when it is punctuated by scolding squirrels, chattering chipmunks, and pattering porcupines chomping circles of bark from the trees. I even miss the soporific drone of bees drunk on nectar and the buzzing hum of hummingbirds dive bombing the deck and whistling past the windows.

Oh, for the simple peace and quiet of the near monastic life of writing, emailing, and research. I'm spoiled.