Tuesday, November 29, 2011

With any luck, you’ll start to see our posts hit the e-presses at earlier, saner evening hours, though this phenomenon won’t be driven by a passion for writing or any such high-flown conceits. That would be ridiculous. By now, you should know that vanity and self-interest will do in a pinch here, whenever passion is in short supply, but it’s actually sleep–or the prospect of shuteye, more to the point–that’s driving the change.

I’ve been thinking about working a regular sleep schedule into my accidental regimen, simply on the strength of how noticeable a difference it can make. 1 AM seems to be my limit. Anything after 1:30 AM, and I turn into a pumpkin–an impatient, denser pumpkin, if yesterday was any indication. But today, buoyed by a full night of rest, I crushed it, mental pistons all afire, my productivity wholly in my command.

Even a visit to the doctor’s office this morning was like clockwork. It’s been a couple years since I had a blood test, so when the screen came back with a clean bill of health, I was admittedly relieved.

“How much exercise do you get?” my doctor asked.

“About 30 minutes a day or…every other day,” I offered.

He seemed to approve.

“What do you do?”

“Mostly aerobic,” I equivocated, until I thought better of it. “Uh, ping-pong.”

Amused look.

“Are you good at it?” he pressed.

“I’m OK.”

“‘OK’? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m being modest,” I shot back.

The entire visit was short and sweet, an economical 15 minutes from waiting room to checkout. When I thanked him for the logistical efficiencies of his office, the old chap explained how he was “obsessed” with not wasting time, and furthermore how we wasn’t trying to be a “social doctor.”

“That’s perfect,” I nodded in agreement, “because I wasn’t going to tell you my life story anyway.”

Firm handshake, and that was a wrap. I should’ve shaken his hand again for not asking me about how my Thanksgiving went. There’s always next year.