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Spinning the Night Self
After years of insomnia, I threw off the effort to sleep and embraced the peculiar openness I found in the darkest hours
Midnight is surprisingly noisy, with a steady stream of traffic bringing people home from the West End in London, while 3am carries a curiously muffled sound, and 4:10am is when the first aeroplane skims my house with its familiar whine of descent. Sleep deprivation is nothing new: women have always been responsible for night-nursing multiple (often sick or dying) children, elderly relatives and animals; wash days often started at 3am; mattresses were thick with lice; winter nights were ice-cold. Meanwhile, Sylvia Plath wrote Ariel(1965), her most brilliant and acclaimed poetry collection, ‘in the blue dawns, all to myself, secret and quiet.’ Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Margaret Thatcher used the sleeping hours to increase the volume of their (arguably bold) output.
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