4:20 - the not fun one.

Finnegan- also not a morning person

There is nothing pleasant about a 4:20am alarm. It doesn't matter how soft the music is, or how gentle the kisses - 4:20am is rude.

I've never been a morning person. I was probably one of the few kids who actually celebrated Christmas that had to be roused in order to allow the festivities to start. Equally, no matter how exciting the reason for the 4:20 wake-up, I can never find one that makes me excited. Yesterday's reason for 4:20am was not overly exciting. I travelled somewhere new, but any curiosity or interest was being tempered by the temperature. It was and continues to be -32c, before any measurable windchill. I also find that rude. 4:20am and -32c. My capacity for accepting or tolerating any other rudeness this week will be significantly compromised.

I only remember one real instance of anticipatory excitement around 4:20am. It was once upon a time, when my sister and I used to visit our grandparents during the summer in Deep Bay. And it was before my pre-teen brain made the morning an impossibility to face. My grandpa used to get up before dawn to go fishing. He had a comfortable though basic Bayliner. I would hear him in the kitchen, and I would creep down the stairs. We would eat cornflakes and he would let me put sugar on mine (a great luxury I was not normally afforded at home). I would pull on my jacket and Grandpa would buckle my life jacket over top. We would then trudge towards the wharf just as the sun was coming up. Grandpa said that the sun hitting the water woke the fish up and made them hungry. It made sense to me. I usually fell back asleep, curled up on a bench until the sun woke me up and made me hungry. Quite often there were other types of forbidden treats in the boat, like powdered doughnuts or cookies, which I snacked on while the lines were set.



This is still my morning face.  Jeff sees this pout fairly regularly.
And remember, I wanted to be there.  Imagined how I looked yesterday.

A couple of spring salmon later, and lots of quiet bobbing around Denman and Hornby Islands, Grandpa and I would head back to the house, where folks would just be waking. Grandpa would clean the fish with a couple of eagles watching carefully from nearby, and then he'd make us pancakes on the griddle. The whole day was still laid out before us.

Random wine thoughts

I use to sleep with a notebook beside my bed to jot down the brilliant ideas I got whole drifting in the grey zone between awake and asleep.

I would classify this as Finnegan's grey zone. But his grey zone lasts minutes, if not seconds.

There have been some good ones, infinitely better than Flaming Globes of Zigmund. I've had brainstorms about briefing notes, brainwaves about decorating, insightful observations about the human condition, thoughts about garments to sew, places to see, weekend plans etc, etc. Alas, in doing so, I was also exiting the grey zone and re-entering awake. And once in awake, my brain does not like returning to the grey zone, let alone allow me to travel to asleep. Thus brilliance also led to wicked insomnia. Extended insomnia leads straight down the path to crazy-town (see the Bloggess for some exceptional insights into this condition). 

In trying to contain the crazy, I decided that sleep > brilliant ideas, and I banished electronics and writing implements for my bedside...antique bentwood chair that serves as a table. Sleep has now been easier (though still not consistent), but late night brilliance is left to my sleep addled brain to try to remember the next day. As such, my ideas are hardly fully formed and often forgotten all together. Case in point, last night I thought of a poignant and hilarious blog entry. But today you get this.

Happy Friday!

Xo

S.