Body Clocks and Brain Fog

Tackling Circadian Rhythm Disorders

Dear Body Clock,

Please try and understand that 3 Am is not an appropriate hour to finally let me fall asleep.

I’d much prefer 10pm, 10-30, 11pm or if that’s just too much for you to handle, I could see myself settling for 12 am at a push, if I really have too.

Seriously body clock, it’s time to give it up before I lose all sense of comprehension.

You see the milk doesn’t belong in oven, nor the car keys in the sink.

Clearly we simply cannot go on this way.

I can’t continue to let you lull me into drifting my days away on the sea of  hapless brain fog  that your fun and games are creating  for me.

It’s time to put the milk back in the fridge and the car keys back on the hook.

As school is returning in less than 2 weeks, and whilst I have greatly enjoyed relaxing into your unwholesome descent into island time, quite honestly, right about now, I need my sleeping life back.

So please body clock…… what do you say……how about tonight we give 10 o’clock a try?

 

Spinning Time

Time sat himself on a ledge,

His fingers spinning minutes endlessly,

From the seconds of skin,

Flaking from his back.

Pricked and pinned like daisy wheels,

Minutes formed chains of hours,

Inter knotted and woven hours formed days,

Days that linked to others’ creating months

Months which ran into years,

Decades on and  stolen.

Time no longer had any idea what he was actually doing,

For time was depressed,

Down hearted and bereft of all his joy.

The idea of creating the very measure of life itself,

No longer appealed to time’s sensibility,

In point of fact time had a great deal of that.

Too much in fact to suffer the inequities of his own makings.

Time understood his role in life the universe and all such things.

He knew every minute of life allotted,

Ultimately must at some point stop.

When life stopped he stopped spinning.

Every time, time stopped,

A chain dropped,

And a life was at an end.

Well that life anyway.

There were always other chains to dutifully spin.

Deflated and tired time thought

He probably should have taken the devils’ job,

Yes that would have held much more job satisfaction,

Secretly he wished that God had have made wasting time more of a sin,

Instead of greed,

Avarice,

Or lust,

Or any of the others.

Time was tired of feeling the emptiness,

Of his own days,

While counting down the  hours of others.

Time was longing for a challenge.

Or at the very least a good cup of tea.

Blog Posting Is it All Just A Matter Of Timing?

The Passage of Time

The Passage of Time (Photo credit: ToniVC)

Does it matter what time of day you post?

I’ve just been reading a few articles on blogging.

Some suggest that there may be better times of the day to post than others.

So now I’m wondering if  a small thing like timing really matters ?

Being a Newbie I’m going to throw this question straight out  to the real blog experts.

So what do you think?

Have you found  that the  timing of  your blog posts really matters?

Are there certain times of the day/night that work better for you than others?

The Devil

So time bemoaned the devil his dues

While the devil himself,

Intrinsically bored with the commonality of crime,

And the constant lack of imagination that made up 99.9% of his job

Sat and begrudged humanity its inability to be creative.

Oh sure he’d had fun for a while

Especially with his invention of the internet,

Whereby for the first time in the eternity of his life,

He’d felt as if he’d truly created

A new

More interesting way

To show humanity it’s capacity  to deceive

Given the chance to communicate their ideas en-mass

Humanity had made him proud of the way their deceit and lies

Followed so swiftly on after simple truth

Had been dispensed with.

Yet, now 40 years on,

When all that had previously been un-thought,

Had been done

He sat wantonly flicking flies

And longed for the life of Time,

Who, although his  hands were always moving

Had at least been given the luxury of a mind

Free to think about more

Than just the next big soul catching thing.

Time Spinning into Infinity

26426_386870161230_642051230_4525330_57676_n

Time sat himself on a ledge.

His fingers spinning minutes endlessly.

From the seconds of skin,

Flaking from his back.

Pricked and pinned like daisy wheels,

Minutes formed chains of hours,

Inter knotted and woven hours formed days,

Days that linked into others’ creating months,

Months which ran into years,

Decades on and  stolen.

Time no longer had any idea what he was actually doing,

For time was depressed,

Down hearted and bereft of all his joy.

The idea of creating the very measure of life itself.

No longer appealed to his sensibility.

In point of fact time had a great deal of that.

Too much in fact to suffer the inequities of his own makings.

Time understood his role in life the universe and all such things.

He knew every minute of life allotted,

Ultimately must at some point stop.

A life stopped when ever he stopped spinning.

Yet every time he stopped,

And a chain dropped,

There were always millions of other chains,

To dutifully keep spinning.

Deflated and tired time thought,

He probably should have taken the devils’ job,

Yes that would have held much more job satisfaction,

Secretly he wished that God had have made wasting time more of a sin,

Instead of greed

Avarice

Or lust,

Or any of the others.

For Time was tired of feeling the emptiness.

Of his own days,

While counting down the  hours of others.

Time was longing for a challenge.

Or at the very least a good cup of tea.