Are Morning People Truly Better?

Night Owls Rock!

 Julie Sucha Anderson

I couldn't find an apt quote for this post so I made one up.

When I get up in the morning, it takes me a while to get going. I don't care to have a conversation with anyone. I need time to gather my brain. It took me a long time to get to sleep and, therefore, a long time to wake up.

I understand this about myself. My inner time clock works this way. No matter how I try to change it, even with 50 plus years of getting up at the crack of dawn, my sleep pattern cannot be changed. At night, I'm awake. In the morning, I struggle. 

If I have a defined place to be by a certain time, like teaching or an appointment (or for umpteen years raising babies and kids) I function fine once out of bed. I can do it. But on mornings when I can wake up at will, I tend to loll around, in bed. First I daydream with my eyes closed for a while. Then I might get a cup of coffee and grab my computer, my journal, the book I'm reading, and my phone. I retreat back to my bed where I sit upright and can see out my slider to the backyard.

I study the birds talking to each other as they flit around the trees. The squirrels chasing one another. Leaves blowing about the yard if there is a breeze. Today I can see the herbs sitting on my picnic table that need to stretch their roots in the newly tilled soil of my garden. I imagine them magically planting themselves.

I'm writing this post four hours after I awoke. I've had two cups of coffee, a breakfast of uncured Canadian bacon scrambled in two eggs with a dab of cheddar cheese. Salt and pepper. I've ordered the invitations for my youngest son's graduation, played four games of Solitaire on my phone, caught up with three of my Scrabble games, set up a time for later in the week to visit with an injured friend. Haven't touched my book and it's almost noon.

I have to say that although I have big plans for the day -- YMCA, garden center visits, planting, watching the last DVD of last season's Nurse Jackie, and probably a few other things in there -- I'm not unhappy that I'm still sitting here. In fact, I could probably last until about 3pm before finally moving my ass.

(As you can see, my last post on finding a rhythm has had no definitive effect on my day to day. I'm still doing free expression rhythming.)

I've read five or six newspapers online and a great article about the writings of my friend, Sorayya Kahn, whose new book City of Spies will be published in December.  I've also read an article in the Huffington Post by Sarah Klein that has me huffing.

As a non-early riser, the article lured me as it was entitled  "7 Things Morning People do Differently."  I hoped to be enlightened. To gather something that might give me new information in a positive forum. Alas, apparently early risers (Larks) are plain better people than the likes of me (Owls.)  And photos display Larks with sunny light surrounded with love.

I'm rather offended. Tongue in cheek.

Instead of going after the nonsense of that article, I'm going to have some fun with it. For I'm an Owl and since this attribute comes to me genetically, there is nothing I can do about it anyway. I have to continue to try to function in the perfect world of larks.

Here we go.

Does having to hit the snooze button a few times make me a not nice, unproductive person? Maybe for the first half hour of the morning, but seriously all I have to do is set my alarm to accommodate those 30 extra minutes and I get up on time. Genetically engineered misfortune overcome.

Is there a fog about me when I awake? You bet. Who wants to be clear-headed first thing in the morning anyway,  bombarded with the days events before you even have a chance to pee or brush your teeth?  The only kind of perking I want to hear in the morning is my coffee pot. Perky people scare me.

Are larks more conscientious?  Different words for conscientious: diligent, industrious, punctilious, painstaking, sedulous, assiduous, dedicated, careful, meticulous, thorough, attentive, hard-working, studious, rigorous, particular; religious, strict.

I don't even want to be some of those things - sedulous? punctilious? rigorous? strict? Sounds like the equivalent of a stick.

Larks get better grades. Okay, you got me there.

Larks are more productive. BS. Plain old BS. We just produce at a different time of the day.

Larks are less likely to be depressed. Really? All I have to do is drag my ass out of bed early and I won't ever suffer depression? Really?

I couldn't suppress my laughter (or disdain) at the last line of this article.

"In a small 2013 study, larks were less likely than night owls to possess "Dark Triad" personality characteristics like narcissism, Machiavellianism (meaning a person may be manipulative) and psychopathy, potentially because the darkness of night allows evening-type people to get away with dark deeds."

I'm thinking that was indeed a small study.

Dark deeds. Hmmmm. Sitting in my Lazy Boy at night, watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report while knitting or reading the New Yorker or folding clothes or writing letters to friends, I'm really narcissistic, Machiavellian and psychopathic. Please don't tell my husband, the Lark, sleeping in the next room. Please?

My rant for this day ends. I'm off to do all those things I planned to do today, just getting a later start than a Lark.

I must ask you, though -- Who would you rather have fun with when your focus isn't being nice, productive, consciensious or perky? A Lark or an Owl? Who would you rather party with? A Lark who has to retire early so he can wake up with a sunny disposition? Or someone who can stay awake and contribute to the fun? Like me.

Book Reader, Book Reader - Where Art Thou?

Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.

Ovid

In a normal year, I read 1-2 books a week. Always have several books going and placed strategically for an easy grab: beside my bed, my chair, the backseat of my car, my book bag, the kitchen table. Pictured here is my Books To Be Read shelf in my bedroom.

I lie. Those books are just at the back of the shelf. Here's what it really looks like.

Here are the books my friend at 128 Sticks of Butter gave me the other day.
Why these collections are exceedingly abundant right now is the blogpost at hand. I've had a most difficult struggle with reading the past few months. Certainly not due to lack of good material, but, instead, a focus affair. When I sit to read, I find myself repeating the same paragraph again and again. My midlife mind takes junkets to pending tasks and exercise needs, upcoming and current family events. My brain becomes the catalog for all those written lists buried in my House of Unfinished Projects.

The inability to settle on the pages and understand the cadence of a writer's chosen words is most frustrating. How I miss the solace found in a story, traveling to unknown worlds and living the lives of others. My absence of concentration keeps me from seeking those travels.

I do miss the satisfaction that arrives when the last page is turned on a truly good read and the anticipation of going to the shelf to choose a new adventure.

How will I remedy this? As often true, the words I write here have clued me in on what I'm missing. That perhaps the reason everything whirls about my head is because I'm not letting it find calm in other worlds. That vacation can bring health. That burying myself in the binding of a good book is a fine way to settle myself.

Today, during my off period at school, I opened Five Queen's Road by Sorayya Khan, a dear friend. Between the beauty of Sorayya's writing, the quiet of the classroom, and nothing there to remind me of tasks undone, I read. Most lovely. Set the pace for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow, I will reassure myself that this rest is only vital fodder for my future crops.

With this posted, the fallow field is ready. I'm reading a book until bed.

To order Sorayya's book, please find the address here. Her first book, Noor, may be ordered at Amazon.com

The Weekend Arrives

Your hair may be brushed, but your mind's untidy. You've had about seven hours of sleep since Friday. No wonder you feel that lost sensation. You're sunk from a riot of relaxation.

Ogden Nash

Tis no better day than Friday, I say. Unless you're a substitute teacher in the final hour of the school day. One can breathe the anticipation building throughout the day. By eighth period? Kids antsy. Unruly. Me? Ready to fly away.

But one thing about subbing, I don't take papers or lesson plans home. (My pay reflects that also.) I walk out the door, free as a bird. Will especially do that this weekend. Time for the annual Bunco weekend of overindulgence and relaxation. My group of 14 women has been together for over 20 years. We all met at the park, new stay at home moms, 8am and pushing our kids in the swings as we struggled to get used to a world without a paycheck, annual reviews, and a certain schedule.

An eclectic bunch -- artists, teachers, an enigma, a physician, hygienist, nurse, pilot, accountant, computer guru, saleswoman, writer, dog trainer, curriculum leader, and unlimited other talents -- we have met the second Tuesday of the month since 1989. Haven't played bunco in over ten years, but meet for the food, comfort, and talk. Lots of changes in our lives since way back then - children born, graduated, married. Deaths, divorces, cancers, depressions, a return to the workforce -- all those things life brings have bound us further. Even though many of us only see or talk to one another once in that month, we are a relaxed group when in company. I am blessed to have these bunco bitches, which is how we refer to ourselves. (There is another group in our neighborhood called the Bunco Babes. We don't belong to that one.)

Since I'll be bringing my laptop to further this Nanowrimo pursuit to move my novel forward, I'm going to let them help me write a sex scene in my book. I can only imagine how twisted that will turn out. (I'm only about 15,000 words behind the 25,000 I should have by this point.)

For some great reading, head on over to 128 Sticks of Butter. See how that friend of mine has shed her pounds and looks fabulous. (I really don't like her.) Or check out Old, Who, Me? to find a lovely tribute to our veterans. To The Smitten Image for a tribute to Canadian service men and women. Perhaps to the thirdstorey window for a little poetry. Or to Wander to the Wayside for a story of adoption. Turquoise Diaries for a quick trip to Sri Lanka or visit the Lazy Writer at A Walk in My Shoes for a lesson on adding tension to your writing. (Not your life - your writing.)

While I'm touting the greatness of others, let me also promote the new book of a very dear friend, Sorayya Khan. We go way back to college days - actually her husband and I do (I met him a few years before they became an item.) Sorayya's new book, Five Queen's Road, has just arrived via the mail. I can't wait to read it. Her previous book, Noor, is a favorite of mine. Sorayya is a most lovely woman. You will enjoy her writing.

And now, to the weekend where I'll take a break from the thoughts of midlife jobhunting and reflect on the gratitude I hold for a world filled with the diverse gifts of others. The picture at the beginning of my post is, I'm sure, the last bloom of my hibiscus plant for the year, so I'm sharing.
May you all enjoy your weekend in the waning days of Autumn -- before the burgeoning schedule of the holidays overtakes us.