The Art of Sleep

I have been sleeping in a bed consistently since the night of Thursday, March 15. I don't remember about the night of the 14th. I might have slept in a bed that night, but it's too long ago now for me to recall.

For a while at the beginning of the quarter (and even last quarter) I was doing all right with treating my body well—good sleep, good food, good exercise. (OK, well, that third one might be a fib.) But then my time management skills that I was attempting to develop shriveled, after which I had to throw them out the window. Hence, many nights spent sleeping on my comfy couch instead of in my even comfier bed.

But I have to be honest: I'm not young any more. I can't live like I used to live when I was an undergrad, falling asleep on my futon (rather than in bed) with my door open, my residents wondering whether they should wake me up or close my door. (They really were a considerate bunch.) I have to actually sleep more comfortably to get good sleep, so that I am energized and refreshed to start work again in the morning. Ah, the predicaments of aging—need for labor (?) without the able body (?) to produce it.

And of course it's not just sleep. I have to get back into my cooking routine, so that I don't use my lack of time as an excuse to eat like I am on an episode of Chopped every night. (Actually, if I even get around to playing the Chopped game, rather than making do with whatever is lying around, that is one of the better nights.)

And whereas my walking and almost-regular stretching don't hurt, I probably should make sure that my bones don't crumble in the next six years or so. More calcium, more strengthening. Time is always, always ticking...and I suppose, with our (healthy) bodies the only things we have to live by, we have to take as good care of them as we can.

[A side alley in Downtown Toronto...it was foggy, and the setting sun was eerily brilliant...]