The one thing I miss, getting older, is the boundless energy I used to have. Strolling out of a nightclub at 7:30AM to pull on my Ray-Bans and mutter "My God, are those people jogging?" I thrived on my bad girl image; hopping out of the Porsche and bouncing into the office three hours later, still wearing the Wayfarers, my co-worker's whispers of "How does she do it?" were worth four hours of sleep right there. As recently as seven years ago I was working a full-time job at night, another part-time job during the day, and commuting 100 miles a day round trip on a sportbike year 'round, and loving it.
It's not like I've become narcoleptic as I've gotten older; I still get by just fine on five or six hours' sleep, but it seems like a certain... regularity has become a necessity. These days my body likes to know that it's going to be put to bed and woken up at or near the same time most days, and it gets cranky if it's not, and now my brain seems to have joined the revolt. And there's the rub: For the first time in my life, I find I have to deal with swing shifts.
The closing on Mo/Tu/We isn't bad at all; given my natural rhythms and left to my own devices, I'd go to bed at three or four and wake up at nine or ten anyway. It's the opening on the weekends that's going to be the death of me: 0400 on a Saturday is no time for an alarm clock to be going off. I compound it by trying to force myself to wake up early on weekdays because the Blog Monster must be fed, and you need to have content up... something, anything... in time for folks to sneak their reading in when they get to work (Check your SiteMeters, fellow bloggers; I'll bet 20-25% of your daily hits come between 0900-1200EST...)
The end result after a month is a surly, apathetic Tamara... Okay, an even surlier and more apathetic than usual Tamara ...who just sits and stares sullenly at her monitor on weekdays, bereft of creative spark, and types bupkis until she finally gets dressed and goes to work at 3:00PM. This can't go on. There has got to be an optimum way to build a schedule around this that will allow me to return to my perky, snarky self of yore.
I'm all ears.