Circadian Cacophony

Since I’ve exhausted my entire stock of bedside stories and caffeine tales on various other bloGGz, I choose not to repeat myself here; repetition is a tiresome habit, and just proves what we all know anyway… so I have nothing more to say on either subject tillfurthernotice. Blingblong.

Other than that, I must confess I just woke up, and it’ll be at least an hour before I’m anywhere NEAR fit for human consumption. So the blank screen in front of me abegging abloGG remains stubbornly blank; it inspires nothing and causes not the singlest, minutest nugget of native wisdom to burst forth.

So do excuse me for the moment; I’ll be back in an hour, lest I say something I shall probably regret. (For instance, the fact that I’m homicidal around people who wake up bright and chirpy in the morning, full of beanz and wreathed in smiles. Shudder.)

Personally, I’m totally incapable of any form of politeness when I wake up, never mind bubbly conversation. Ughhh. For the simple reason that it takes me a fair while to gather my scattered wits and propel myself reluctantly into the day. As you may have surmised by now, I am NOT a morning person.

So I cannot comprehend how this cheery bunch of morning stars (as in 98.5% of the global population) can twitter their way through the morn (mourn?) like an irritating exaltation of larks. Unfortunately, I have lived with some of these twittery types, and they’re just lucky they’re all still alive.

I suppose I’m more a conspiracyofravens or a murderofcrows type myself. (mutter mutter growl…). Some mornings it's all I can do to stop myself snarling and launching myself at their throats, seduced by the thought of an earlymorningbloodbath (oooh yummm!) and the blessed silence to follow.

No such luck...grrrrr!!! A surfeit of cheery morning gabble later, they go and do the BREAKFAST thing. Surely our innards were not engineered for that kind of abuse so early in the day?? I don’t even want to watch this…

So back to getting my head together, which takes anywhere between an hour and three. By which time everyone else is doing lunch, or having their mid-afternoon coffee break. So we’re never on the same page. You know what that can do to conversations. Relationships. Potted plants. Goldfish. Cabbages.

Which brings me to this long standing debate I’ve had countless times with countless people. They all follow the same logic and reasoning (or complete lack thereof):

Them: “How can you LIVE like this? It’s against the Laws of Nature, even the tides follow the moon, day follows night, people sleep at night and wake up in the morning, if you’re not in harmony with nature then you can’t be in harmony with your life.”

Me: “I’ve lived like this for a long time, and I’m still around, so apparently it works for me. I’m not looking to convert you, but I don’t find I’m out of whack, and thanks for your concern. Re. harmony, it doesn't really matter, I don't sing.” Ha!

Them: “But people need the sun, you need to wake up early and sleep when it’s dark, not the other way around. You’re weird.”

Me: “There are exceptions in nature too, like owls and bats. I’m probably one of those exceptions, my circadian rhythm is set that way.”

Them: “Your WHAT?!?”

Me: “My internal biological clock. You have one too, and it’s set to your rhythm. I dropped mine on its head a couple of time so it’s off whack, but I wouldn’t let that worry you too much.”

Them: “Hah. So what do you DO all night??”

Me: “Exactly what you do during the day...work, read, listen to music… nobody calls you on the phone, nobody rings the bell or visits...my favourite time of day (night?). You ought to try it sometime, just to see what it’s like. And often I’m still awake in time to catch the sunrise. So I get my chlorophyll in 3-point harmony haha.” Sheesh.

Did you know the circadian rhythm of humans closely matches that of the drosophila, or fruit fly? Mine closely matches bats and owls, which explains a lot. I mean, bats EAT fruit flies!!! bzz bzz.

Hammy the Hamster…R.I.P.

Early this morning, I had a call from my littlest friend, A., the 8-year old daughter of a buddy of mine. She wanted to tell me herself, that Hammy had died. His tiny body was still warm, so it must have happened just as the household was waking up.

Oh no.

A. is a solemn little thing, and Hammy was her first pet. She’d inherited him from a friend who relocated; he was about a year old when she got him.

A hamster’s lifespan is only 3 years.
A lot of kids have hamsters.
Losing a pet is never easy.

That she even thought to call me and tell me, because she know how much I loved Hammy too, blew me away. Kids will do that to you.

“I’m so sorry about Hammy, sweetheart…have you talked to Mum about where you want to put him?”

“I think we have to bury him,” she said.

She handled it very well, over the phone. Her Mum had done a good job of preparing her. Before they went away for the summer holidays, little A. already knew Hammy might not be around when they got back. “Knew” in the academic sense, of course. To everyone’s delight, he was still there when the family returned home after the holidays.

And in fact, he made it through two more months, and was fine until last night. I’m sure he went quietly; he had been showing signs of slowing down for some while…fur loss, sleeping longer, not so active any more. And he was nearly 3 years old, so yes, we were all expecting it.

Her Mum told me later that A. didn’t want to bury him…”She’s still not quite accepted that he’s gone, and I’m letting her handle it her own way. The cage is still there, and she said, ‘Can we just pretend he’s gone to stay with someone else for awhile?’ ”

Hammy was the first hamster I ever met, and got to know up close and personal. I’d never seen one before, and I fell completely in love with him. Tiny, waffle-nosed little thing, with bright beady eyes and the softest fur. I’d seen pictures of hamsters, but never realized how tiny they really are. None of the pictures were half as cute as Hammy.

He never used his exercise wheel, but he loved rolling across the floor in his exercise ball, and it was fun watching him. A. was always very gentle with him, and made sure when her friends were visiting that Hammy wasn’t treated roughly or over-handled.

I always wondered how such tiny, defenseless little balls of fur could possibly survive in the wild.

I’m convinced he recognized me because whenever I’d visit, I’d invariably check him out before saying “hi” to anyone else. He’d mostly be asleep, but would usually wake up when I tickled him, and come to the door of his cage so I could take him out. Sometimes he’d wake up grouchy and gently nip my finger, letting me know he didn’t want to be handled right then.

I’m glad I saw him just 2 days ago. He did wake up that day, and I did hold him for awhile, and made a big fuss over him. And now he’s gone. Full stop.

Death is that final; as adults, we know this. For a child, it’s an unknown quantity… till it happens to a pet. I’m sure A. will have a lot of questions for her Mum, as the days wear on; kids will ask those questions. What happens when you die, Mum? Does it hurt? Where do you go after here? What is it like over there? Will you and Dad go there too? Are there children there too? Will I see Hammy when I go there?

For today, she told her Mum, “Please help me to forget?” and “I know the fish died too, but this is different.” Already, she knows it’s different.