Hard to get out of bed this morning. It was a rough night. Somewhere between three and four, the warning sirens went off, the thunder rolled, the wind blew—up to 70 mph we’re told. I’m not sure why, but in the cottage, everything has an amplified sound—the wind and the rain, although I didn’t hear the sirens. But I lay awake listening to the moaning of the wind, the drumming of the rain. Sophie stayed right next to the bed. Of course, by six it all quieted down, and I slept again. But by 7:45 my conscience pulled me out of bed.
Today was one of those days that gives Texas a reputation for, “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” It stayed damp, dark and chilly early this morning, and I thought sure Jordan would cancel our errand/grocery run. But she didn’t. She said ten o’clock, and by ten it was “fairing off,” as one of my children’s nannies used to say. By eleven, left alone in the car on one errand, I shed my fleece jacket and complained that I was getting a sunburn.
I have been the big cheerleader for Daylight Savings Time, proclaiming my love for dark mornings and long light evenings. I think I have to eat a bit of crow here. I have found I am longing to linger in bed in the mornings, just burrow in and stay there. I have to make myself open my eyes and get on with the world. And in the evening, I’m unbearably sleepy at too early an hour. My inner clock is out of whack.
Worse yet, even without storms, I wake about four and sleep restlessly from then on. I read something about insomnia that identified nap insomnia—napping uses up your sleep need, and you don’t rest as well at night. Guilty! Some days when I nap (which I do every day religiously), I think I haven’t slept but then I realize that I have come from some far country and, indeed, I’ve slept and dreamt. The other insomnia cause that hit home with me is wine—a bit of the grape at night helps you go to sleep but you tend to wake in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep.
I do, however, expect things to be better in the morning, when it will be sunny, and I will bounce out of bed ready to dig into the edits on my Alamo manuscript. Ah, don’t hold your breath.
Tonight, a lovely supper with Betty and Jean at the Tavern—delicious sole, mashed potatoes, and spinach. And talk—about Better Angels and politics, about 23andMe, and Alzheimer’s and what we know, and always, about food. I think I’ll abandon that wonderful-sounding butternut squash recipe. Too hard to peel a raw squash. Life’s big problems.