My circadian clock is resetting. I hit the sack at or before 8 or 9pm.
It’s a full seven to eight hours by the time the clock ticks to 4am.
Why so early to bed? you ask. Exactly. I lie down to help settle Burt, who after a nap from 6pm is suddenly on a talking jag. He might be anxious to “go home,” an anxiety undeterred by cheery outbursts from me. “Oh, aren’t we lucky! We are home.”
There might be a train to catch, likely and apparently the last for hours.
There could be some concern over his “job.” He has an urgent need to organize whatever has to be done.
What’s my excuse at the shank of the night and the [oh so early] start of the day? I am up with the cows to close the window as it might be getting chilly. I am awake organizing whatever needs to be done.
I have some anxiety over what will be despite so often seeing that what will be turns out differently than expected. It is almost other than I feared, “aren’t we lucky!” usually sooo much better.
Some thoughts and ideas might percolate to distract me, but they require writing down. And I’m up.
this is our life 