Not insomnia after all...?

This just came via LinkedIn:

The myth of the eight-hour sleep

http://www.linkedin.com/news?actionBar=&articleID=5578062617768894472&ids=d3ARc3oVc38Te3ASd3kSdjsRdiMOczcPcPkPdzcMejcScj4OdPkRb38Td3gVe3wSdPsNdz8Sc3wTdjkIdjoNd3kOd3AQdzkRcP0UdPsRdiMUdzATc34Mcz0N&aag=true&freq=weekly&trk=eml-tod2-b-sum-2&ut=1FvaGhiX01gR81

The Royal Hunt of the Cockroach

Let's see... My years in Manhattan (long ago, my children) were an exciting and happy period. I dropped out of grad school (/long story), took a low-paying and undemanding day-job, moved into my own little rent-stabilized apartment on the Upper West Side (remember when barely-employed people in Manhattan could afford an apartment?) and took over the kitten that a friend found himself stuck with when the roommates who brought her home moved out and left her behind. 

I was taking voice lessons and singing lots of Gilbert & Sullivan, a bit of opera, and some seasonal religious music... what more could I want out of life? Nobody thought about the price of oil back then. 

My apartment was on the 5th floor of a 9-story building, and the super kept the heat blasting so that it would make it up the pipes to the top story - so to keep from melting, I left all my windows open all winter. 

One day I was greeted at the door by a very excited cat, who kept rushing to the window, then back to the door, then back to the window. Sure enough: a pigeon was inside, perched above the sill. I'm afraid Kitty was pretty disgusted with me when I trapped the bird in a shirt and pushed it back out the window. 

We were reconciled the day the giant flying cockroach flew in. Living across the hall from the trash chute, I was pretty used to roaches... but this was HUGE, and it FLEW. 

I was nervous, but Kitty turned out to be a Mighty Hunter. I never knew cats pointed, but Kitty tracked that creature, found it, and showed me where to get at it, like the best-bred English Pointer. I flushed it out, it flew and hid again, Kitty tracked and pointed, I flushed again... until, with team-work, we got it trapped in a corner and I made the kill. 

Then it suddenly hit me: that was one flying roach. What will I do when its mate seeks revenge? 

The day came, and soon. There I was in the tub, naked, reaching for the soap, when I looked down to see a huge roach just like the one Kitty and I had killed, there in the drain at my feet. 

I could kill it with a sponge - but the sponge was on the sink, and the sink was forward and to the left... could I reach it without either stepping on the Fearful Flyer, or setting it flying into my face? 

Clever creature to attack me in the shower: no chance to call on Kitty for reinforcements. (I've had cats who don't mind water, but Kitty was not one of them.) I knew I couldn't spend the rest of my life standing in the shower turning into a prune - so I took my courage a deux mains, reached for that sponge, and succeeded: I found that the roach's mate, softened, no doubt, from grief, was an easy prey, even in my solitary state.

Adonai, l'shana sh'natata bi t'hora hi...

People go on about "Jewish guilt", but it's the Xians who go on about "original sin" and think they need special help to win G-d's love & forgiveness... while Jews wake up every morning and sing, "Adonai, l'shana sh'natata bi t'hora hi..." That is, "Lord, the soul you gave me is pure. You made it, you shaped it, you breathed it into me - and as long as it remains in me, I will praise and thank you!"

I'm working on a song by Brahms based on the Ecclesiastes verse that can be translated "futile, all is futile." It says we're no different from the animals; who says we go up and they go down after we die? - we're all made of dust, and will return to dust... and so we should just do our work, because that is our life.

I think Brahms, being Xian, wants us to think this is depressing and wants us to lament, but I think it's fine: I'm ready to be recycled or used for compost when I die. The body & soul S/He made is good, and they aren't just for me - I'm here because G-d put me here, and wherever / whenever S/He puts me later is OK too. Meanwhile, like the folks at the end of Candide, I'll cultivate my garden - because that's what I'm here for.

So - it's soy milk...

This week I slept through the night a lot, and woke up in the mornings able to think, and got a lot done. Even Tuesday, when I made the mistake of going out to lunch with LizBlu and her group - I was out for too long, and spent several hours flat on my back afterwards. But I finally did get up and accomplish things... and I slept that night, too.

So today, when I took my last sip of that soy milk I got last week, I worried a bit, because I'd found a note in an old diary that suggested soy milk helped me sleep... so I walked (!) to CVS to see if they had any, but they didn't.

That's okay, I told myself... I'll go to Stop & Shop tomorrow and get some.

Well, here it is again - 3 AM. At the computer.