And then, I find myself needing to be places at 8 or 9am. Switching schedules was so simple in university when most nights I averaged 5 to 8 hours of sleep and seemed to be able to fall asleep at will and recover without much damage until Christmas break. Then, sleep was only broken for a few butter tarts, a turkey bun, and a holiday special before it was naptime again. But now, I'm in my thirties and it's harder to change and to sleep, period.
The first day goes relatively smooth: bedtime was later than you hoped but hey, it'll be good to be a little tired after that first early day. Yeah, right.
At the end of the day, bedtime comes closer to goal but your body decides it's going to grab the sleep you "skipped" the night before and you wake up later that you slept before you changed the routine, having slept through two alarms and the above paws kneading your face and asking when breakfast is going to be served and how long before your pillow becomes available. Chances are, there is cat hair up your nose and your wrist has some sort of strange kink in it developed under the sedimentary pressure of your comatose body on top of it.
That night, you fall instantly asleep. You hear the alarm and so do the above ears which cue the above body to snuggle in. You wince but you get up. It's easier, or at least, it's getting there.
And you fantasize all day about finding a warm patch of sun in which to nap. MMMmmmmmm, sun nap...
I think I'll have one now.
PS - Happy Birthday, Mike.