sleep-living

My entire day seems to be over-determined by how much sleep I get and when I get it.
Woe to my suprachiasmatic nucleus. I remember first reading about this little mechanism we are all born with that does or does not happen to conform with the 9 to 5, 24 hour, 7 day a week, bla, bla, bla tick tock rhythms of modern society. For example, if you're a lucky little "morning person" you'll probably feel so much happier swinging with the rhythms, getting your coffee and toast when you want it. If you only need what 5 hours of sleep, even better.
I, as you can probably guess from my bitter mockery, am not one of you lucky birdsong at dawn break people. I  love to sleep, need to sleep, sleep to sleep. I'm terrible at getting up. I need multiple incentives or a really amazing one to force my body out of bed at a certain time. If I ever marry, this will be good for my getting up problems because I find that the best alarm clock is definitely another human being. In the meantime, I continue to be monkish, to fall asleep with books in bed with me, sometimes my clothes on, ick. Yes, I'm literally sleeping with my books. And do I want to get up the next...cycle? Not usually. My disrupted rhythm is so bad that lately, because I am "trying" to do nothing but mainly work, I wake up with a headache and hungry belly and an unhappy mood. This little soldier is not a good drill sergeant to herself, especially in the realm of movement. Get up. Get up, woman!

It goes deeper, little nucleus beware. Bed is the place of denial, a hide out, a sleep hide-out from responsibility and life and people and places, and well, no matter what signals you might be sending me, my denial is stronger. I can sleep-hide from my own body...it seems that it is not so hard to corrupt whatever healthy path you are supposed to lead. Intention is stronger than pain.