Disclosure: This post started out as a comment on Bell, Book, and Kaselholmen.

Relocating from from 40 to 60 degrees north latitude has affected my sleep patterns in surprising ways.

Back home (that is, actually, everywhere I’ve lived from college onward) I was famous for falling asleep at midnight no matter where I was — parties, bars, rock concerts — and I preferred to wake up at 8 a.m. or so when the sun was safely in the sky regardless of the time of year. Although, I would always experience a “spring fever” of sorts and get by on four or so hours sleep for a few weeks in May. Come winter, I would reclaim all that lost sleep. Really this all seems very natural to me, a biological imperative.

When I first got here in November, predictably I wanted to sleep until 10 a.m. every day, but once I got used to the idea that I was going to have to get up in the dark if I wanted to be a functioning member of society, I find myself able to get up as early as 6 a.m. on a regular basis. That would be pretty much unthinkable for me in the US.

I also find that midnight doesn’t mean anything anymore. I can stay up til all hours, and, left to my own devices, 2 a.m. seems more or less normal now. Of course, there are days when these erratic habits come back to bite me in the ass and I have to sleep til 11 a.m.

But I’m really looking forward to the White Nights, and not sleeping for a couple of months on end.