sǝuoſ ǝuıɥsunS | notebook, journal, inter-web log

I am a hot sleeper. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s always been true. I remember being a sweaty little 4 year old grabbing the pinking shears and hacking the feet off of my trundle bundles while I was wearing them, leaving a jagged, tom sawyer-like edge right at my knees. There was much excitement when I got found out, but boy was it cooler up in there.

I’m not just a warm, cuddly fellow when I’m asleep… we’re not talking anything pleasant here… I radiate heat like the dark heart of a volcano, gnashing my teeth, and sometimes I even snore. It’s a gift from the heavens for friends, family, and lovers alike who are people that freeze like ice cubes when the wind blows, or perceive any change in temperature as “chilly.” People who think they are cold when they get tired also love me. They lay on top of me, snuggle up against me, and feel all warm and yummy. It must be nice for them. But as a human heating pad, I have come to accept this phenomena. The trouble is I can’t stand to be warm and sweaty when I don’t want to be. When my thin-blooded friends are all snugly and warm, I get crabby, and moody, an don’t like it at all. While I appear to be designed for isloated, and somewhat harsh sleeping conditions, being an electric tea kettle makes staying up late, and sleeping like a rock something of a pickle in more intimate situations.

In an effort to combat my body’s thermonuclear radiation output, I sleep with the appropriate garments (none) and bedding (very light.) Since I sleep alone this works out nicely most of the time. There are places I travel to, and a few weeks out of the year in SF then my unheated apartment calls for jammies. I’ve got a pile of t-shirts, and a pair of drawstring flannel pants I wear to bed during these rare, and infrequent cool spells. Once I even wore socks to bed. For the most part I think my body is designed to sleep on the cool floors of remote caves, far from the flames of the fire, alone. Biologically speaking, I always thought that people were inclined to cool down, with a lowered heart rate, etc. when they were sleeping. Maybe it’s all relative.

Last night I was bushed and got to bed early. I needed to be up at a decent hour to drop my macbook pro off at the apple store in time for the lcd to be replaced for this weekend. I’ve got a show in SF on thursday, a gig on saturday in Boulder, and Sunday Soul on sunday, and next weekend isn’t any lighter. So finding the time to relinquish my computer for repair is a tricky business. Anyhow, I got into bed, it was hot. I slept on top of the covers. A few short hours later I was startled awake by a crash outside… screaming and yelling, an ambulance, and all the party fun of city life following. I was up until noon, sipping water, and just kicking it. when I finally got back to sleep the sun was up, and it was a slippery, sweaty affair. I woke up around 3:30 pm and I tell you…

Today may be an entire wash out.

I really shouldn’t complain. I live in the perfect city for my body type, where we enjoy the luxury of sporting awesome outerwear all year round, and then when the sun comes out for the one month a year it decides to love us, we strip to almost nothing and lose our minds in the streets, in the parks, and out at the beach. I love indian summer in San Francisco. It’s the only time of the year when the long shadows creep across everything for hours, the fog is absent, and there’s no wind. It’s like beach weather. I love it. Rather than grind myself for erratic sleeping patterns, or anything like that, I think I’ll just head out for a walk in the light of the setting sun, accept whatever comes, and try to bring a little more love and light into this discombobulated world of ours.

* hug *

Sweet dreams!