Tonight, I find myself in the lab at 3am. Why? I have (decided) to do a 26 hour manual collection requiring me to change microdialysis dialysate tubes every 30 min. At this point in the night (4 am), I have nostalgically reminisced about the summer fellowship I did in 2006 at a human sleep laboratory (Guess which one). My partners and I, some of whom I will see next week at the Society for Neuroscience meeting in Chicago, were on the lark shift, which means for an entire summer, we entrained ourselves to wake by 3AM and fall asleep by 7AM. Particularly because we were working in an environment that unmasks sleepiness (low light intensity). Throughout the summer, we developed a habit of ab lib random, nonsensical poetry known as Stage 1 in our drowsy stupors on the weekend, after being thoroughly exhausted from our grueling week of shift work. Here’s to Larks, Stage 1:
Ice cream paint job
I need a jello shot.
Or perhaps a new job.
Or even a cig butt.
That poem was written in 10 seconds. Another rule of Stage 1 poetry slam.