Tunes to tune out the world to: “Sleep” by Max Richter

Want to fall asleep?

Well, composer Max Richter wants you to, too.

That’s why the British melody chef’s cooked up a delicious eight hour long lullaby for our brains to digest until dream time arrives. It’s called “Sleep” – which at first made me sardonically think, “Yeah. Why confuse us by coming up with something innovative, right?” But then, when I gave the album a sample on Youtube, I realized two things: 1.) It definitely deserves its simple moniker. And 2.) I probably shouldn’t be listening to sublime mind effleurage of this genre at 6 in the morning. Not when I have a nine hour day of work on my feet ahead of me.

Yet… I can’t… stop… listening.

Chock full’a peaceful stringed instruments against a backdrop of pacifying piano pieces, it’s the ideal soundtrack to drift off to. And, while maybe you’ve gotten this with some of the other scores you’ve tried zonking out to, you’ve probably also had the non-pleasure of waking up an hour or two in – right when the album ended and your brain realized you were suddenly minus a melody. Not with “Sleep”. In this composition, Max’s tracks collectively add up to the same amount of time you’re meant to rest. So confident was he in his work, that he held a coma inducing concert for his new album. With strangers. All sleeping beside eachother.

Live music and humans dead to the world:

After listening to it myself, I have to admit – this series of ditties is actually fantastic on two levels. The first reason being the obvious (and why we’re all here); it’d make for a Grade A brain tranquilizer after those days that leave you feeling a bit too schizo to shut down on command. Aside from its snooze inducing qualities, however, I have to admit: the classical music element of it helps for waking activities, as well. Like, for instance, what I’m doing right now. Writing. While I was fearful at the start of this article that I might wake up three hours later with drool on the keyboard and face-typed gibberish all over the screen, I’ve gotta admit – I might’ve been wrong. Because, between the clean, intricate, melodies and the calming chords – listening to this stuff whilste creating’s been equally effective as others claim it is during dream time. Or, as this more-eloquent-than-I author puts it in his review:

This is music that might best be experienced in a flickering semi-conscious state, those parlous and fraught seconds in which a gaping void is glimpsed in tiny flashes before cognition vanishes without warning to be replaced by emptiness. Although Richter created Sleep so as to soundtrack the ideal period of rest, any live performance of it will doubtlessly be a richly immersive and moving experience.

Dude was definitely listening to the album while he was writing his review too. High five, homie.

So, if you’re feeling inspired (or just desperate on account’a insomnia), give Richter a listen this evening.

Heh.

Ironic his name’s Max Richter when the stuff he makes’s so tranquil, minimalist, and opposite of a seismic event.

From the mat to the mattress: yoga for a fab sleep

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I love my morning yoga routine.

Dubbed a “sun salutation”, this sequence is quick and to the point. It jets me outta my post bedtime bewilderment, clears the cognitive cobwebs, and braces me for my day. It’s like a cup of caffeine you breathe instead’a brewing. (Though, granted, I guzzle the green tea after, too.) But, more recently, something occurred to me: if there are yoga sequences that can wake you up, aren’t there also ones that can wind you down? As it turns out, there are. Much like there exist teas that can either enliven you or take your consciousness down a click or two, yoga’s the same way. There are P.M. poses meant to loosen you up for downtime just as much as those matcha-esque A.M. ones amp you up enough to send you out the door for a jog in 18 degree weather.

(Just make sure you’re waiting long enough after dinner to do some’a these…)

And how’s that work, exactly?

Well, bedtime yoga’s focal point is your “relaxation response”. The idea’s that we (many of us), kinda reside in the opposite of that state most’ve our days (AKA chronic stress). You’ve probably heard about the “fight of flight” response before – that thing our bodies do when we think a threat’s imminent. (Lions, grizzly bears, fingernail sized house spiders sent from hell that’re obviously here to collect my soul.) While that reaction’s normal for those stimuli (arguably), what’s not is how we tend to turn what’s meant to be a fleeting survival response into a way of living. Repetitive stressors like responsibilities (or that one barista who can’t seem to comprehend how infuriating a lukewarm latte is) add up to leave our stress response toggled on. And, by the day’s end, tranquilly taking a break from reality feels incomprehensible. Fortunately for us, though, we can access that aforementioned “relaxation response” through a few poses. What they do is freeze that fight or flight hyper-arousal state in its tracks. Because, when you’re sat in a calming pose, a domino effect toward repose ensues: first, you slow your breath. And that signals your nerves’ stick shift to switch your gears downward. And that means the button in your brain’s concern center gets powered off. And, as a result, your heart rate slows.

Boom, relaxation.

Don’t believe me? Then ask the smart folk from Harvard about it.

’cause they did a study on the power of insomnia battling asanas:

esearchers in this study provided their subjects with basic yoga training, then asked them to maintain a daily yoga practice for eight weeks. The study participants kept sleep diaries for two weeks before the yoga regimen began, and for the duration of the eight-week study period. In the sleep diaries, they kept a record the amount of time spent asleep, number of times they awakened during the night, and the duration of time spent sleeping between periods of waking, in addition to other details about nightly sleep amounts and sleep quality. Twenty people completed the eight-week evaluation, and researchers analyzed the information in their sleep diaries to evaluate the influence of yoga on the disrupted sleep of chronic insomnia. They found improvements to several aspects of sleep, including: sleep efficiency, total sleep time, total wake time, sleep onset latency (the amount of time it takes to fall asleep), and wake time after sleep onset

Gee, and all I wanted was to just get a good night’s rest. I get all’a that too?

Reason enough to give it a try, am I right?

Thus, I set out this morning to find a sequence for tonight that’s as effective as a hot mug full’a kava with honey.

(Since I’m outta kava.)

And I found the following graceful, respiratory lullabies:

This one doesn’t give you pointers, but it’s pretty self explanatory:

But if you hate evening reading ’cause your brain’s fried from work, that’s fine too.

Here’s a video of someone telling you what to do:

Indeed, it’s been my experience that those ones where your hips are flexed are particularly helpful in recruiting docility mode. This makes me psyched to try out the others, as well, in hopes that they’re half as good. So much so that you can bet your bottom (which, if you’re like me, won’t see a seat all day because you work on your feet) that I’ll be doing at least one of these things this evening after I get off work. Only problem? I’m so excited to try ’em, that I might have trouble reaching the tranquil state so easily.

Anyway, best of luck finding your full body chamomile in motion, my friends.

Yes, you can survive on 3 hours of sleep a day.

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Ever wish you had more hours in the day?

Like too much of it’s spent on that necessary evil called sleep?

Well, if you’re in a bizz where your time’s your own, then mayhaps the Uberman Sleep Schedule is for you.

Also dubbed Polyphasic Sleep, this naptime itinerary is employed by peeps who wanna cut through the BS of light sleep phases, get straight to the restorative, deep sleep, and wake up refreshed within half an hour or less. Instead of clocking out nocturnally, your 24 hours’re peppered with brief siestas. And, in the end, your day comprises about six twenty to thirty minutes naps (though some people tweak it to fit their needs.) Who the hell would do this, you might ask? Well, soldiers, pilots, and crazed writers – just to name a few. In fact, recently I came across an interesting account from a member of that latter group and thought three things:

1.) This dude’s getting away with 2 to 3 hours of sleep a day.

2.) That means you’re adding years to your lifespan which I totally want.

3.) Nevermind. ’cause I could never survive the transition phase.

And that – the adaptation part – is where a lot people end up giving up.

Here’s a writer’s advice on how to do it successfully:

Adjusting To This Schedule
Adjusting to this schedule (as you might imagine) will make you feel like you’ve put your body and mind through a blender for a few weeks. Here are some general tips for adjusting that I found to be greatly helpful.

Do the adjustment when you are in complete control of your schedule. I converted to the cycle during a three week vacation; it would have been impossible to get through a normal work day while adjusting to this cycle. I was by and large a zombie.

Find a large project to work on while adjusting. If you don’t keep busy, you will revert to a normal sleep cycle. In my first failed attempt at switching (on vacation more than two years ago), I didn’t have an ongoing project to keep me focused.

Use physiological “tricks” to teach your body the cycle. I found that using a dawn simulation trick worked nicely. Every time I went to lay down, I set my monitor to wait thirty-two minutes, then begin running a program that had a strobe effect along with some excessively loud music. I also used two alarm clocks, and during the day I would adjust my blinds such that the sun would start shining in my face roughly a half an hour later. These would force me to become somewhat conscious for a while, which was all I needed to keep going.

(Sidenote: Human alarm clocks work well too)

Days 3 to 10 are the hardest and least productive. I spent the adjustment period working on two projects, one involving programming and another involving writing. At the start of day three, I stored a backup of these projects because I knew that my thought processes were starting to become nonsensical and bizarre. For the next week, I continued to “work” on the projects, but utterly failed to make any sensible progress (interestingly enough, the fiction I wrote in this period was entertaining in a Thomas Pynchon meets The Electric Company kind of way). Don’t expect to be hugely useful during the actual forced adjustment to compressed REM sleep.

Convert to a more nutritious diet. I’ve found that drinking a great deal of orange and apple juice makes the Uberman schedule easier to follow, as does eating plenty of vegetables and avoiding fatty foods like the plague.

Yeah, I gave up when he mentioned turning into a zombie. I do that enough as it is.

The other downside? The social aspect.

Some of the great minds of history have allegedly tried to adhere to the Uberman (or some variation of it) sleep schedule. However, when it came time to hold meetings, conduct business, or try to engage in anything remotely social, some genius’ brain train had to make a snooze stop for at least a third of an hour ‘fore it could get back on track and manage professional matters anew. I imagine it can’t be easy on families, either. Or sex lives. Or your sense of time. Or your diet… according to one Quora user who’d be Uberman’ing for a while:

“After your body gets a handle on the extreme military-like conditions your stupidity is forcing onto it, it’s amazing and then unbearably boring. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be (…) Although you only sleep two hours a day (via six 20-minute naps), each nap feels like eight hours of sleep and every four hour segment feels eleven hours long; every day feels three days long.”

Also, the same dude described the too-real nature of the dreams you get while polyphasic napping:

“I had a nightmare in which a giant squid unexplainably pulled me down into the ocean— the fear I felt as I slowly died underwater from lack of oxygen was as real as the keyboard in front of me now, and when I died I woke up to real reality, which was just as vivid as what I’d just experienced.”

Vividly inimical squids? Getting dead underwater? Are we dreaming or dropping psychadelics here?

Aside from that deterrent (and the fact that my schedule wouldn’t allow this… and the fact that it takes me twenty minutes to fall asleep in the first place, making my total time in bed be at least 40 minutes), my personality and human habits in general wouldn’t fit this system either. The main drawback, as I see it, would be the fact that you only get four hours to get shiz done before you’re due for nap number next. And I dunno about you, but I have a whole process about getting up. There’s some stretching involved. A vat of caffeine. (Can you have stimulants on this schedule?) Then, there’s the complaining about being awake that’s equivalent in length to that of the nap I just took. If I knew the four hour countdown was already initiating the moment I woke up, sure, I’d be mowing through my to-do’s. But I’d be doing it in such a hysterical state, that I’d be executing all’a my tasks, major responsibilities, or projects people count on me to do correctly in a less than stellar fashion.

“What? What’s wrong with it? Is it the font?”

Verdict?

Between the adaptation phase and the isolating aspect – this sleep plan’s probably best for less social folk.

And “uber” useless for everyone else.

Are you snoring? Or suffocating on your own body parts?

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We’ve all seen it before.

That dude on the subway. Or the lady in the waiting room. Or your latest lover.

The lot of them, snoring away to beat the band.

(Which you wish was a real thing, playing full blast, versus a mere figure of speech – so it could drown them out.)

Sure, we all have a laugh and figure it’s a Youtube worthy moment. But then, within a few moments, you realize this isn’t your average snoring. Suddenly they start bucking like a bull and gagging like soon-to-be pork having its trachea lacerated. For a moment, their breathiing stops. You look nervously around, unsure of how to handle this. (And maybe even press pause, put your phone down, and quit recording the comical episode – ya know – just in case this is someone’s imminent death you’re capturing.) But, inevitably, they wake themselves up mid suffocation – glancing around in panic with all the clarity of someone departing a stoner coma.

This is Obstructive Sleep Apnea.

(AKA: OSA)

See, the difference between typical snoring and sleep apnea (though the two often get confused with one another), is that bit described above just now. While snoring’s indeed a nuisance (more so to whoever’s in hearing range of your nasal cacophony than you), OSA’s inconvenient on a whole ‘nother level. Whether it’s caused by a deviated septum, postural positioning, or even obesity – folks with this disorder don’t simply snooze through the night while decimating their neighbors’ sleeps. They wake themselves up. Mostly ’cause they can’t breathe. Ya know – that thing we need to stay alive. The symptoms of it are what you might expect: episodes of funky respiration (or none at all), too much slumbering when the sun’s out, insomnia, bad dreams, sleep deprivation, and – of course – snoring. Then, outside of sleep time, sufferers might deal with the sad sads, grumpiness, teeth grinding, and even uncooperative copulatory organs when it’s time to get bzzy. (Assuming your partner’s not too pissed at you about keeping her up all night to feel amorous).

“Wake up, honey. You have to finish your will *before* asphyxiating yourself on your own oral organs.”

I asked a friend with OSA recently about it. He says that, without using his CPAP mask, he’ll wake up 3 to 4 times a night. And why was my well postured, far-from-obese pal afflicted with it? “Nine times outta ten, the tongue falls back in the throat and obstructs the airway,” he explained to me. Scary. When I considered all this stuff, I realized two things 1.) That must suck for whoever’s going through it even more than whoever has to listen (’cause they have to deal with the physiological side effects) and 2.) I should probably get a sleep study stat, seeing as I exhibit a lotta the symptoms I’m seeing.

So, what can you do if you think you’ve got OSA? Like hypochondriac me?

Well, there’s a host of fixes (in addition to the CPAP) you can try to respire better during sleeptime:

Mandibular advancement device (MAD): This looks like a mouth guard that athletes wear. It snaps over your top and bottom teeth. Hinges let your lower jaw ease forward, which keeps your tongue and soft palate stable so your airway stays open while you’re asleep.

Tongue retaining device: This is sort of like a splint that holds your tongue in place to keep your airway open. Doctors don’t prescribe it as often as the MAD. It can be harder to get used to and less comfortable.

Position pillows: Do a quick online search, and you’ll find many types of pillows to help relieve sleep apnea, designed for use with a CPAP machine or without. They come in different styles, including a wedge shape, which aims to raise your upper body.

Tennis balls: Sleeping on your side may improve your symptoms. To keep you off your back, some doctors suggest pinning a tube sock filled with a few tennis balls to the back of your nightshirt.

CPAP: That stands for continuous positive airway pressure. These machines use a mask that fits over your nose or nose and mouth. It blows air at a pressure that keeps your airway open during sleep. Your doctor can tell you the right pressure to use and how to set it on the machine.

So, there we have it. A good comprehensive list – from an ornate mask to a sock full’a balls.

But before we start self-diagnosing, mayhaps we should get a profesh sleep study done, first.

(And ask your trainmate flatulating through his face to nab a Bane mask for himself. And bring it next commute.)

Flight club members: how to rest best while jet setting

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Not everyone has the luxury of getting a good night’s sleep.

It’s not insomnia causing it. And it’s not depression.

What’s leaving them feeling beat is their frequent flying profession – plain (plane?) and simple.

My brother’s among these sort. He does all’a that globe trotting stuff for start up companies, business meetings, and secret rendezvouses at the likes of Google’s Area 51 (Google X, I think it’s called). And while everything he does and sees is obviously impressive, homie’s in a perpetual state of jet lag and exhaustion most times I see him. Yet, somehow he’s acclimated to the fatigue that follows spending half your life amongst the clouds. So, I’ve gotta wonder: how do people like him deal with it? How do they recharge to prep for professional interactions? And avoid burning out? According to the experts, there’s a whole preparation list you can follow.

Firstly? Get ready ahead of time.

If you’re stuck at the last minute trying to discern which details on your to-do list are gonna happen when (check in, security clearing, locating the nearest Starbucks or Cinnabon), then stress levels’ll be at an all time high. Not just tomorrow when you’re running through the airport line with two different shoes on your feet, but tonight when you’re laying in bed worrying about what you’ll have to worry about when you wake up. So, aside from packing your bags, wrapping up work related homework, checking on flight times, and leaving enough reheatable meals in the fridge (so that hubby and the little nuggets you two propagated don’t starve to death), mayhaps also make an itinerary for tomorrow. That way, everything’s laid out for you and all you hafta do is follow (your own) orders.

Next?

Treat sleep deprivation (which you know’s coming) like an injury… and have a first aid kit at the ready. What some people’ll do is make a little siesta section in their sundry bag. (Blinders, ear corks, that one soporific tune you nicked off youtube with the whales and the white noise…) That way, you can really create a mood from the window seat. (Bonus: if you’re inadvertently lulling your plane mate to sleep by spraying lavender oils into the periphery, maybe he’ll be so drowsy that he’ll get less pissed about your frequent piss breaks that make him hafta get up or pretzel his body to let you by.)

Next? Be wise with exercise and edibles.

A good combo of the two leads to a good rest the night before.

(And a good rest the night before leads to a better recovery after the inevitable damage you’re about to incur.)

Then, finally: don duds you can dream in. This is something my peripatetic pops always taught me (before passing the traveling baton onto my brother). See, if you’re rocking layers, you can add ‘n subtract them as you see fit throughout your journey. In my experience, planes’re a bit chilly for my liking. However, after a few spirits (or having your own spirit squeezed from your body as you’re sat between two massively monstrous hominids sweating profusely onto you), you might feel a tad toastier. Bottom line? If you can’t get your body thermostat comfy, then you can’t drift off.

Or use the shoulder beside you in 22B as a human pillow.

Thus, if you’re new to the jet lag life, mayhaps give these revitalizing travel tips a try.

And maybe your membership in the flight club won’t feel like a constant fight.

(Or, ya know, you could just change your frikkin line of work, you masochist.)

Can you OD on this sleep hormone?

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So… if it’s naturally found in my body – it’s okay to take as a sleep aid, in pill form.

Right?

Right…?

Not necessarily.

And definitely not when it comes to melatonin, according to some studies.

Thing is, while melatonin is associated with sleep cycles and is made by our own bodies, ushering a surplus of it in isn’t necessarily good thing. In fact, it can be detrimental to dreamtime and wake time. And that, unfortunately, is possibly what’ll happen if you take these tablets in 5 mg amounts. Right about now, you’re probably pondering HTF these things found in an aisle beside vitamins can possibly land you a hormone OD, aintchya? And that’s normal. It’s normal for our opposite-of-holistic culture where “some being good means more must be better” and “for every deficit there’s one panacea”. The problem with that is, that when it comes to stuff like melatonin, it’s more than just something we attribute to circadian cycles. In fact, recently, I just came across a camp of scientists who believe melatonin’s actually among our stress hormones. It may sound counterintuitive, but I was game to listen. Because, while some levels of stress hormone are totally necessary, all that extra junk effs up your system in the long run. So, could melatonin’s alleged stress effects be to blame for the repercussions it’ll sometimes cause? (“Yeah, but I feel tired when I take it. How can it be a stress hormone? Your move, Ashley!”) Yes. You raise a great point, imaginary character who lives in my brain and battles me all day. I wondered that too. But, according to this newer camp, there’s a reason for this. Indeed, you might take that tablet and feel tired. But that’s just because you’re doped out on the tiring effects of stress. (The idea being that some stress puts you into fight or flight mode, while too much fatigues you.) The end result? That mayhaps a nap will happen to you now, but when you wake up and try to function like a normal human creature tomorrow, don’t be surprised if you have a shiz ton of fun side effects to deal with.

(Though, hopefully, falling asleep while your hand’s still awake isn’t one’a them.
I mean, just try to keep your hand open like this chick’s doing all night.
I’ll put five dollars in it – if you can reenact this impossible stock photo.)

And those side effects were something I myself had to learn about the hard way.

When I was first quitting anti-anxiety scripts and pain meds and all that fun stuff, I was looking for any way I could to naturally nab a nightly recharge. Before I settled on a few good teas for a few good Z’s, melatonin was part of my journey. Granted, I was grateful for the onslaught of sweet blankness in my brain… but less grateful was I for how I felt come morning. Headaches. Grogginess. Mood swings reminiscent of that one time when Legion inhabited my body and the priest had to come to extract it with an uneven, wooden plus sign. And why was it doing that? Because our hormones (many of ’em, at least) tend to work on a sort’ve feedback loop. Which is why the way some people explain the downside to hormone therapy – is by comparing it to a space heater in a home with a thermostat:

Most of the hormones in the body are governed by negative feedback, which works like your household thermostat. Say you set your thermostat to 72 degrees and the room temperature is 69 degrees. The heater kicks in to warm the room up. When the temperature reaches 72 degrees, the heat shuts off until the temperature drops again. Administering hormones can actually shut off our body’s hormonal negative feedback loop. It’s like heating a room by a space heater and the furnace shuts off because it isn’t needed. In this case, the “furnace shutting off” translates to the hypothalamus-pituitary connection becoming dysfunctional. When communication between the hypothalamus and pituitary – the master hormone-regulation center in the body – becomes compromised, it leads to many other hormone imbalances.

(Other people always put it so much more eloquently than me…. Or is it “eloquently than I”? See?!)

Whether or not melatonin’s a stress hormone became irrelevant to me. All I knew was that it wasn’t the answer. It was an answer – and a bad one – yet I tend to shoot for the best when it comes to rest. And once I opted for the less invasive types of wind-down cures, things became better. But you want to know when they truly improved? When I started looking at it from a different angle. You see, melatonin’s dubbed the “dracula of hormones” because it only rises at night. However, as we covered before, there’s got to be a good body balance happening in order for the Bram Stroker hormone to make its great debut. And because melatonin’s regulated by our exposure to light and dark, this means something important: the more natural light we get during the daytime, the more likely our photon-phobic chemical will be ready and on deck come bedtime. Learning this was a game changer for me. Or… more like gam changer. Because my legs started changing when it was that they’d hit the trail for their daily run: early, and under lots of light. I promptly started doing an A.M. jog outdoors instead of an evening run. And I slept like a log. (Then I started doing an A.M. and evening run – and I slept like a log on qualudes. But my early and late habits’re neither here nor there.) The point? Thinking outside of the box of exacerbating palliatives that weren’t working on a “bigger picture” level (and about as helpful at fulfilling my slumber prayers as Wes Craven’s Wishmaster), I found a legit (not to mention free) cure: to quasi-literally seize the day. (Meaning all its rays – not, ya know, the intangible albeit quantifiable concept of the time that transpires between sunrise and sunset). Get some’a that sunshine early. Like hormonal money in the bank. And that way, I could release the natural chemical kraken once the sun dipped under the horizon again.

So, what’s missing from your days that makes your nights so miserable?

Are you willing to tweak it for the sake of sleep – and overall well being?

Interview with a vampire (chatting with a nightshifter)

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I can’t imagine living without daylight.

The moment dusk touches down, I’m terrified. Clinging to those last shreds of sunshine, I traipse along some trail for an evening jog. Good to the last photon infused drop. And then, when I’m suddenly cloaked in a cold quilt of naught but lunar light, that abyss within me begins to strengthen. Swell. Consume me. I hate the night. But, as I’ve become busier (and thus tried to befriend it so that I can work past 6 P.M. before my brain freezes up like a porn riddled computer), I’ve begun to wonder: how the eff do other people manage? I mean, I’ve learned recently that about 40% of people attempting night shifts can successfully make the circadian flip-flop happen successfully. The others? They end up pudgy, depressed, cancerous, and enduring a surplus of other fun sicknesses. That means less than half the population of those making moola by moonlight actually acclimate to it. The others simply suffer (and generally get dead prematurely.) But how? How do some people (happily) do things like save lives within the coffin-like confines of a fluorescent infirmary tomb? How can they sacrifice the solar glow of the well lit hours?

I’ve had many a moronic question about night owls.

And, recently, I asked all of them to a friend of mine… who is one.

(No. This *wasn’t* one of them.)

You see, my buddy, Eric, is among these night crawlers of which I speak. But, while he might be a bit of a vampire, homie’s nocturnal adventures comprise saving lives – not taking them. Because, as a veteran and respiratory therapist, Eric spends roughly twelve hour shifts at a time, breathing life back into the poor bastards who’ve come in there with oxygen puffing problems. And those shifts typically run from late o’ clock to early in the A.M. The funny thing? I’ve witnessed him doing both “regular people” workdays as well as this seemingly crazy one. And somehow… this seems to work better for him. Unlike the unfortunate 60% of sickly workers grinding at night, he’s fit, satisfied, and comparatively more content. So, is Eric among the aforementioned minority of mutants who’ve managed to make the melatonin switch? It seemed worth investigating. Thus, I asked my airway angel pal how and why he thrives at night. Not just for work – but all that other crap that comes with the business of living (like healthy relationships, a sane brain, and overall physical fitness).

And this’s what I got:

1. What is your current sleep schedule and why are you keeping it?

Currently I sleep from 8-8:30 am to around 4-4:30 pm because I work from 7 pm to 7 am. I’d love to sleep till 5 or 6 but j have to make my lunch, have my coffee, get dressed, and commute.

2. Did it take you a while to acclimate to these vampire hours?

No. I’ve always been naturally more nocturnal. It’s just nice to have a job that accommodates that.

3. Do you have trouble falling asleep at 6 or 7 (or whenever) in the morning? Or staying asleep for the day?

No more than most people would when they go to bed at what is assume are normal hours. My night time just happens to be others people’s mornings.

4. When you wake up by mid afternoon, do you feel groggy or well rested?

That all depends on how tired I was going to bed. Some days I feel right as rain, others I feel like the walking dead.

5. Have you found yourself getting sicker more frequently?

6. Do you feel any increased effects of depression on this sleep schedule? Lashing out? Mood swings?

My mood has actually been steady since I’ve gone back to the dark side. For me, trying to sleep in the dark is the worst. It scares me and I can never truly rest it seems. Daytime sleeping has been more more conducive to good sleeps.

7. Even after getting sufficient rest, do you ever head to work still feeling tired?

Don’t we all?

8. Does your work performance ever get effected by fatigue?

No. I may feel like shit, but you’d never know it when I’m at work. I love my job and I have a strong pride in being the absolute best in my field regardless of how I may be feeling.

9. Have you ever microslept while driving? (Nodded off at the wheel)

Not since college. *cough*drunk*cough*

10. What is your sleep schedule on a day or night off?

I try to keep my schedule pretty intact regardless. Obviously when my daughter is with me I do wake up earlier or just take a nap in the afternoon at some point in the day. Just to keep my batteries fresh. She’s old enough to entertain herself for an hour or so, but if the situation arises I can pull an all nighter no problem.

11. Do you wear sunglasses on the way home from a night shift?

I wear my sunglasses everyday if there’s light out. My migraines have forced me to do so for years now. Night shift work was never the cause of that.

12. Do you black out your room during daytime sleeping?

I’m afraid of the dark, so I’m going to go with no.

13. Do you take stimulants (coffee, energy drinks) to stay awake at work?

Don’t we all???

14. Do you take sleeping pills to fall asleep come morning?

I do have prescriptions for sleeping aids, but I rarely use them. The prescriptions were used much more when I worked days.

15. Does your diet or exercise suffer as a result of your inverted circadian rhythm?

No I actually feel better and my body responds to my workouts better now that I’m back to what feels natural for me.

16. Are there any upsides to the schedule you’re keeping?

No more than any other schedule people keep. I guess my friends always know they have a designated driver should they need one of I’m not working.

17. What’s the biggest downside to it?

The only one I’ve found is that often times in the only one awake in my world. Can get lonely, but thankfully I have friends all over the world so I can chat with people no matter what time it is.

18. Do you find it difficult to fit in non-career related business? (Appointments, grocery shopping, etc.) If so, how do you work around it?

No I just schedule all my stuff for right after work just like most people do. Only difference is I’m wide awake at 8 am where most people haven’t had their morning coffee yet.

19. Who is the coolest email interviewer you’ve ever had?

I could tell you, but you’d never believe me.

19. Did you notice I listed 19 twice?

Yes I did. Nice touch.

20. (Just seeing if you’re still awake.)

I might be.

21. Anything you want to add about being a nightcrawler?

Traffic is always better for me than it will ever be for you daywalkers!!! So NA NA NA NA NA NAAAAAAAA

So, there I have it. Eric’s apparently just a genetic unicorn who’s more productive in the late post meridian and witching hours. I’d say this doesn’t help me figure out how to tweak my own circadian clock, but actually that’s not true. Because there’s a paradox to be observed here. While, as he mentioned, he gets distressed in the dark (you try going to war and not returning with a few new fears), he’s also more alert at sunset (obviously – seeing as that was the whole point of this article). So, to me, it seems like his apprehensions that arise when light is lacking have led him face that fear head on. That takes some intrinsic fortitude. Because, when the sun sets (while people like me are mourning the death of day till morning returns again), he’s out turning his phobia into a money making entity. Keeping busy to keep the demons leashed. (Whereas some people I know would use it as an excuse to pop mind massaging pills prior to passing out into a pillow.) Thus, this interview with my vampire pal did indeed shed light on darkness dwelling habits for me. You can’t necessarily chock up a successful, nocturnal, hormonal reversal to genetics or environment.

At the end of the day… some people just come to life at the end of the day.

Others force it ’cause that’s what it takes to survive.

And others yet – like my buddy, Eric?

They do both.

Why I had a better night after a one day stand

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Getting restless legs at lay down time?

Well, maybe it’s because you’re not standing on them enough when you’re awake.

Indeed, according to studies done on RLS (which either stands for Restless Leg Syndrome or Relentlessly Lamentable Sleeplessness; pretty sure it’s the former, though technically both apply), sedentary lifestyles may be to blame. We sit to drive. We sit for meetings. Most of us sit at a computer for work. And, aside from the fact that this’s all no bueno for our upper body posture, it also makes for a weakened core, and contributes to that blood sugar imbalance we all get when we wolf down breakfast, plop down in a swivel seat, and fail to expend the consumed energy for anything. All of this stuff, they say, throws your body machine outta equilibrium – making for a restless attempt to rest later on. And it makes sense. If you’re spending the whole day immobile, your body’s going to be sending you WTF signals later on. Sure, your brain might be taxed, but you’ve been physically lazy all day long. And the flesh ship you inhabit demands a release. Which is why your legs keep kicking like a junkie in the throes of withdrawal.

The fix for this desk jockey induced torpor?

Why, a standing desk, of course.

(Ah, look at that face. She must be reading my website. That or standing’s just *really* suiting her.)

And, when I heard this, it reminded me of this man I see with a laptop every day at Starbucks.

The dude looks about my age. Always appears as if he’s just come from the gym. And… he always stands at his computer. I finally asked him about it the other day, and he said it feels so much better than sitting. And the dude’s not wrong. While it’s not exactly a laptop on a treadmill, it’s been shown that even just remaining upright while you type can help keep your body functioning optimally. With your core engaged and your posture properly in place, there’s none of that strain and tightness happening later that goes hand in hand with stress level increases – which we all know can make sleep impossible. (Also, I’ve found it to reduce my technology induced ADHD significantly – when you’re standing, you’re less likely to give into a browser full’a tabbed out memes and media for socializing.) But the work time benefit to standing’s got legs to it. ’cause the average standing office worker burns about a couple hundred more calories than their buddies who’re doing biznizz from their bums.

(Example. To calculate yours, click here.)

And while that’s great on a fitness level, it also mean a good rest for you.

’cause your gams’ll feel satisfied tonight when your one gym sesh from the A.M. didn’t feel like enough.

As for me? I’ve come across a partial solution to this organically. I say partial ’cause it hasn’t been enough thus far. See, I work part time on my feet at a clinic all day and part of the time, I’m sharing informational gems like this with you. The other part, I spend running to burn off those ingested calories. So, you’d think that’d be enough, right? Wrong. ’cause up till having that chat with my Starbuckian neighbor and encountering a couple articles on the matter, my routine could’ve stood a few improvements. I was having so much trouble going from writing from my rump to running on a trail. Stretching took forever. It felt like coming out of a coma. Every effort to limber up had me sure I had some slow onset of Tetanus transpiring within me. So I decided to give my ‘bucks buddy’s routine a try. And, after a single morning of standing to manifest my literary sorcery, my stems stopped suffering their usual whatever-the opposite-of-Soul-Cycle is that night. Just sweet, subconscious release. Thus, I’m definitely planning to make this a more permanent practice. That said, I still don’t believe everyone’s gotta go out and get a standing desk in order to do this. Espesh if you’re an at-home writer like myself. Just use a high counter or coffee table.

There’s no need to waste your money.

Especially when you’ll need it to loiter later at Starbucks while chicks ask you about your standing habits.

Cold feet; sweet dreams.

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“Cold feet” is generally a phrase with a negative connotation – reserved for fickle fiances.

But not when it comes to another nuptial commitment we all have:

Our matrimony with our mattresses.

“Sign of a perfect marriage: I literally can’t tell where you end and I begin. Neither can anyone else!”

Because our feet, say scientists, are pertinent parts of our bodies for thermoregulation during dreamtime.

And for your best rest, they say: the more naked the better. No socks. No blanket. Just the AC’s breeze running betwixt your toes like a smelly Fabio commercial. Which is actually all (very unwelcome) news to me. I had no idea science wanted me to leave my foot fingers exposed so that the nocturnal monster waiting under my bed could gnaw them off. But they do. Because while I understand that we need nippier night temps to sleep well (which you can manage with your thermostat), there was something I didn’t factor into that before: that we have two zones to appease to sleep well (and to stay in snooze mode, for that matter). And those are our core temp and our shell temp. While the former’s regulated by the brain, the latter’s managed by external heat levels. So, it doesn’t matter if you make your wall thermometer drop like it’s opposite of hot for an hour or two before absconding to your bedchamber. I mean, that might be good for allowing you to fall asleep – but you might not stay asleep if you’re someone who likes roasting under a smotheringly massive cavalcade of covers once you’re there. Or laying on a heating pad set to full blast (Hi.) Or, say the experts, if your flippers are blistering hot under those garments that you refuse to remove when you’re in bed. For example, there was a study conducted by neuroscientist Dr. Eus van Someren (where he stuck subjects in sorcery suits that altered hotness levels as they rested). And, indeed, the results seemed to confirm it: subtle temp tweaks equal significant sleep quality mods.

While a dip in core temperature before bedtime flips on your brain and body’s “time for bed” switches and helps you fall asleep, Someren’s research shows that keeping your skin temperature “perfectly comfortable” is important when it comes to maintaining deep, restful slumber.

Okay… But why deprive the extremity my toe tentacles live on?

Because while you did a great job on prepping your brain’s temp for bed by turning your atmosphere more arctic that usual (which for me means anything under 80 during winter – though the pros suggest 60 to 70), it’s not enough. As the study showed, it can’t satisfy that maintenance heat level you need to manage later while you’re actually sleeping. Your feet’s heat, on the other hand, can. That is, if you lay off swaddling them with socks. And that’s because of the specializd blood vessels in your ambulatory pedals. What they do is help manage loss of heat. We’ve actually got them in both our hands and feet. They’re called arteriovenous anastomoses (which I don’t expect any of us to remember, but put it there for anyone looking to bring up a fiver dollar term at the dinner table tonight). Thus, the existence of these structures (coupled up with the fact that we’re bald on our palms and soles) means that your fleshy root system’s ideal for dissipating heat from your body.

So, if you’re having less than stellar rests, maybe it’s ’cause your hooves are hot.

And maybe you should strip ’em down so you can rise refreshed tomorrow.

(Assuming the night creatures haven’t dined on your tarsals by sunrise.)

Why seven hours isn’t enough…and eight’s too much.

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It just doesn’t add up.

You got a full night’s rest.

Yet you’re still weary when that unwelcome clamor comes from your alarm.

Well, mayhaps what’s not adding up isn’t the number of hours you got – but the number of cycles you didn’t. At least, that’s what many experts say. Per specialists who’ve studied this issue, the time we’re rising (and trying to shine) is less relevant than the number of revolutions we ride ’round the sleep wheel. And just how long does each one take? 90 minutes apiece. See, what happens during that hour and a half, is that we go through light sleep, deep sleep, dream sleep, and then repeat. The idea’s that if you can time it right, and wake in the light phase, you’ll feel less fazed in the A.M. by that alarm. Even though you got to sleep kinda late. (Or got less than the recommended seven hours. Or stayed up liking other peoples’ photos on Instagram for an hour past bedtime in the hope that they’d return the favor and validate you via heart buttons.) The tough part? Well, I guess the arithmetic’s pretty vexing. But all you have to do is take 1.5 (that’s an hour and a half) times 6 (Or 5. Or however many hours you can get away with tonight) and make that many hours from now – be the time you set your alarm for. The other tough part? Timing those slumber increments just right – and accounting for those moments where you’re laying in bed but your head’s still doing cerebral suicide sprints.

“I wonder if it feels like a carpal sneeze when Spiderman shoots silk from his wrists…”

For me, I usually guess fifteen minutes to half an hour is what that takes. (And then I just tack that onto the 90 minute increment). But for those of you can’t necessarily guesstimate when your body goes comatose, there are sleep-bands and apps out there that monitor your somatic feedback. Strap one of these badboys on and you’ll get a wrist robot to watch you sleep like your creepy ex boyfriend used to. The difference? This one’ll have something worthwhile to offer when you wake up: a report on the perfect time to start setting your alarm.

And, why, might you ask is all of this necessary?

Especially when the last thing you wanna do before bed is calculations?

Because, waking up during deep sleep can feel nearly worse than not getting any sleep at all. This is the reason why many specialists will insist that alarms are the fatigue inducing foe of a good night’s rest. (Along with the snooze button.) By waking during a deep or dream sleep phase, we feel incomplete. Our bodies think we’ve not gotten a full rest. As a result, we go around like a George Romero creature, feasting on cappuccinos for hours, yet never feeling wakefully satiated.

So, tonight, when you’re heading to bed, just remember to set your alarm, counting back the hours fro-…

Actually. Scratch that. Tonight, try this sleep calculator.

(Because, let’s face it, neither of us can be trusted to do basic math when we’re this tired.)