It is rare for me to revisit the same topic twice in a matter of weeks on these pages.
And no, Black Caviar doesn’t count.
One version is usually enough to have my dear readers nodding off over their corn flakes.
This week, however, that’s what we’re trying to achieve. My recent piece on being unable to get a decent sleep, hit a weary, eye-drooping nerve.
I can’t remember such a response. Possibly because I’m sleep deprived. Anyway, a few of you let me know that I’m not alone.
For those who missed it (and I’m taking names and numbers here), I outlined waking up at 4.15am. Pretty much every day. And I hate it.
I recalled how as a young man, I could sleep at representative level. Not any more.
The next day, I had blokes at work telling me the same thing. Similar vintage. Different time slots.
One wakes at 3. He has no idea why. He’s taken to watching early, early morning television.
An old school friend tells me her eyes open at 3.30. Every day. Reckons she does some of her best accounting work in her head, as the rest of the world snoozes.
Someone else stares at the ceiling, from the early hours. Thinks of a thousand problems. Doesn’t solve any of them. Then has another go the next night.
A former colleague is wide awake at 2.30. Without fail. It’s hardly worth going to bed.
I had a 4.25 morning over the weekend. Yep, a 10 minute sleep in. Part of me wanted to celebrate. But I didn’t have the energy.
If what you’re telling me is right, we’re a society that can’t sleep. Everyone is so busy. i-phones and i-pads rule our lives. We shut them off at night. But there’s no button to power us down.
Compare our nocturnal woes, to the sleeping habits of The Teenager and Daughter Two. It’s like they’ve stolen my slumber gene.
A few weekends ago, after a hectic week of school and dance, they set about having a sleep in on a Saturday morning.
We’d watched a movie the night before, and got to bed late. They gave firm instructions not to be disturbed.
It’s fair to say I could have had Pink and her band performing in the apartment, and they wouldn’t have stirred. The zzzzzs were almost visible.
I went and picked up the paper. Did the washing. Cleared the kitchen. Sang loudly. Banged pans, as only Dads can do. Nothing.
We hit midday, and they were still snoring. If I hadn’t shaken them soon after, they’d probably still be under the doona.
I think this tells us two things. One, they need more sleep during the week. And two, it’s an age thing.
The problems of youth can’t be enough to keep them awake. That must kick in when we get older.
Together, we’ll keep looking for answers. Feel free to send them my way. In the meantime, I’ll keep blogging about the same thing. If you’re not asleep by now, you certainly will be after the next one.