COVID-19: Day 82: Early Mornings

Sunrise over cloudy mountain ridge

Enter Creator: Photographer: Nickolay Khoroshkov
Copyright: Copyright:Nickolay Khoroshkov
Information extracted from IPTC Photo Metadata.a caption  Wikipedia Creative Commons

My sleep pattern is really off — even for me.  It’s stress and tension and worry and current affairs.  It’s not quite 5 a.m., and I’ve been up for well over an hour.

For most of my adult life, I was a night owl.  Then I entered the halcyon days of going to bed at 10 p.m. with a book and waking at 6 or 7 a.m.  Then the Evil Menopause occurred, and sleep became elusive.  I’m either past that or have made peace with it, but now I’m stuck on the to-bed-by-8 and up at 4 a.m. pattern.  This is a problem.

It’s even more of a problem now because between 8 p.m. and 4 a.m. I’m up multiple times.  For water, to pee, to stare at the screen, to stare at the wall.  My mind churns, and my spirit is disturbed.

With current affairs being what they are (mayhem), I am sleep deprived.  I punctuate my late afternoon with a long nap, but I don’t think I’m getting enough hours in a row.  My dreams are vivid and, often, disturbing.  Working, writing, and tending to life’s daily chores are hard.

I need some peace, but that seems unlikely.  So.  I need to learn how to navigate this turmoil.  These are momentous times — I need to be sharp.

 

Desperate for Tranquility

Here is a video of my Hawaii photos from the 2017 Very Epic Mother’s Day Vacation to Oahu and Maui.

I am desperate for tranquility. The world is too much with me.

The World Is Too Much With Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.