Mamacita says:  Sometimes, the exhaustion kind of catches up with me, and I don’t really sleep, as such.  I lie in my bed in a kind of coma, disturbed by nothing, hearing nothing, barely moving (so I’ve been told) until my body has built up enough strength to permit me to wake up and face another day.  Or, rather, evening.  I don’t do this very often – maybe once every two or three months – but when I do, I always feel as though I’ve wasted a day.  Life is too short to waste even one precious day, and losing so much of a day makes me feel all at once guilty, wasteful, and so very, very refreshed in spite of myself.

I hope I don’t do this again for a long time.  Then again, I never know when it’s going to happen.

Fortunately, it always seems to pace itself so it happens when I have time for it.  A good shrink would probably tell me that I do it on purpose, albeit subconsciously, and maybe that would be correct.  I don’t know.

I only know that left to my own devices, I don’t generally go to bed until three or four in the morning, even on the days when I have to get up really early.  My mind is going a mile a minute at night, and even if I try to lie down and relax, I can not.  I do most of my at-home work when normal people have long been sound asleep in their beds.

I get by on three to five hours a night, usually,  not counting those rare but ever recurring times when I go to bed at my usual wee sma’s and don’t open my eyes again until the sun is getting ready to dim.

This is, of course, absolutely disgraceful.  Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I do it?  I don’t know.

But I did it again today.

And I feel great, in spite of myself.

Just when did I wake up today?  See if you can figure it out.

P.S.  I dearly love to watch the sunrise.  It’s glorious, and promising, and reassuring.  I love to watch it from the very moment the tip of the top of the sun barely begins to show, until the entire orb is up and the east is lit.

And after that, I like to go to bed.