I hear a repeating complaint about the Art of Sleeping these days.

Once, in the not-so-long-ago, “conversation” didn’t involve ailments, but aired gossip like old Uncle Bertie with the 80 proof breath snoring through family gathers.

There was an ethos about gathering at the office water cooler which I never was involved in since I worked one-girl offices where I could boss men around.

Now they gather their coffee mugs up to caffeinate for the Zoom call, waiting that Call to Meeting to light up. While sipping, they visit on who had less sleep the night before. Everyone holds out a better number – like some stock sleep market report: I was up at 1:30 this morning! And the next chimes with their time.

What in the Youniverse is waking us up at that hour? The usual litany that starts with paying bills & ends in existential epiphanies you don’t remember after Second Sleep.

I hear that’s what they call it: Second Sleep. Articles are starting to appear on the feeds (at least on mine) about how at one time we all spent time awake in what we now refer to as the ‘middle of the night.’ We got stuff done then by candlelight or rushlight or simple familiarity of feeling. I get stuff done at these uncanny hours too.

I just cleaned the kitchen. Which is the go-to since I always want a coffee on waking. It seems less essential than mending harness with a jingle. But a minute or two may have passed since I was asked to mend harness.

Hours. What’s up with this, besides you?