mjj (flemmings) wrote,

'My time of day is the dark time, a couple of deals before dawn'

Cat Valente has a post about how 4:30 in the morning is her time and how she resists going to sleep before that. How well I remember the feeling-- start writing or translating at 11 pm and work till 3 or 4 (and, in Japan, take my finished work to the conveni to make copies.) Then go to bed and sleep 5-6 hours and wake as refreshed as if I'd gone to bed at midnight. In fact, that's what I did Thursday night: read till 4, slept till 9:15, went off to work. But I grow old. Last night I read till 2 and then slept till 10:30 and there went the morning. Mind, in summer I'd have woken up, because in summer I wake up with the light, whether or no. Why this doesn't work in winter I have no idea.

When did those late nights stop? I know that around mid-decade the 'work till 4' thing started turning into 5, or 6, and if I went to bed at 6 I'd wake with a muscle knot migraine several hours later. (The theory is that such deep sleep stops my usual thrashing about that keeps the tendons limber and casts pillows and blankets to the floor.) There was also the real possibility of the Dolorous Phonecall at 7 am, 'I'm/ he/ she's sick can you do my shift at 8?' So for the last five or six years at least I've been an early-bedder (by my standards) though I will still, given my druthers, sleep to 9:15.

But I really do think the early bedtime is what put paid to my writing, because I did all my best work after 11.

Dark Night of the Soul lyrics, to have them handy.

Upon a darkened night
the flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet rest

Shrouded by the night
and by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
while all within lay quiet as the dead

Oh night thou was my guide
oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
to the beloved one
transforming each of them into the other

Upon that misty night
in secrecy, beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
than that which burned so deeply in my heart

That fire t'was led me on
and shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where he waited still
it was a place where no one else could come

Within my pounding heart
which kept itself entirely for him
He fell into his sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave

And by the fortress walls
the wind would brush his hair against his brow
And with its smoothest hand
caressed my every sense it would allow

I lost myself to him
and laid my face upon my lovers breast
And care and grief grew dim
as in the mornings mist became the light
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
Tags: music, rl, verse

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