I’m going to have to get up earlier. Thing is, I’ve been a night owl since I learned how to read and find my father’s flashlight. I whiled away my first-grade late nights hiding under the blankets reading Madame Bovary. (Kidding: it was What Katie Did.) The pattern hasn’t changed. It doesn’t matter if I’ve read all day, I still can’t go to sleep unless I’ve turned over the pages of a bedside table book for at least an hour. I have friends who tell me they can’t sleep unless they’re lulled to sleep by the television in the bedroom and that’s just a modern version of my affliction. I can count on the fingers of two hands the number of lifetime nights I’ve gone to sleep without a book drooping from my hand.
That’s never going to change, but I think I’m going to have to impose a time limit. Not being able to punch in at a job has destroyed my sleep patterns; I’m more than ever likely to stay awake until 2 am reading. Reading, I may add, nothing I haven’t read at least twice — if I dreed my weird to bed with a new Carl Hiassen or Tess Gerritsen, I’d lower my lamp,( or flashlight) when I’d finished it, even with dawn’s pearly fingers splashed on the ceiling.
Through seventeen readings I know how Madame Maigret’s Case turns out. My days are getting busier: I should set the clock for eight hours after I turn out my light and drag myself out of bed, no snooze, when the alarm goes off. Geez, I did better than just get by in my professional life with much less sleep.
Heavens, Roger Clemens admitted to vitamin B12 injections! (Keep it under your hats — I feel better after I’ve had one.) To think that Satchell Paige’s miracle drug was hooch.
August has long been known as The Silly Season in politics. This year is no exception: vide the Islamic Center flap.
I received an advance reading copy of Niki Segnit’s “The Flavor Thesaurus.” I think it’s genuinely interesting, the recipes are terrific, and I suggest you check it out when it’s published.
Because every blog post needs a picture to break up the type, I offer this snap: Ajax’s ears peeping from behind the love seat as he checks out his hood for dogs, safe inside.