What the late stretch pays

If staying up did nothing for you, you wouldn't do it. So before arguing with it I want to list what it pays, as fairly as I can. I count six payments.

The first is time with no demands in it. Nobody needs feeding or answering, and nobody needs you to find their shoes. For some people this is the only such time in the whole day, and the relief of it is physical.

The second is control. All day, other people decided what you did and when. In the late stretch you decide. Researchers who study how people recover from work treat this as one of the basic ingredients of recovery. They put it alongside relaxing and switching off from the job. It isn't a luxury.

The third is the refusal I mentioned. Staying up is a way of saying that the day doesn't get all of you. It's a small act, and it's often the only one available.

The fourth is that tomorrow is kept waiting. While you're still up, it's still today. Bed is the door to the alarm, the commute and the inbox. Chapter 8 is about this one.

The fifth is quiet. A house at half past eleven is a different place from the same house at seven. The phone doesn't ring, and the street is still. Some people love that for its own sake.

The sixth is the least noble. Going to bed takes effort, and staying put takes none. There are teeth to brush and doors to lock and stairs to climb. Meanwhile the next episode starts by itself. Chapter 9 is about that.

Those are real, and the first two matter a great deal. Now the costs. You know the main one, so I'll try to be specific about the rest.

The first is tomorrow. You'll be tired, and chapter 5 argues that you'll be more impaired than you feel. You'll be shorter with the people you live with. Small problems will look bigger.

The second is that the late stretch itself is poor. You're spending your own time in the most worn-out hour of your day. Chapter 4 asks what you actually do in it.

The third is a loop. A tired day is a harder day. Tasks take longer, so the chores run later into the evening. You have less patience, so the day's demands feel heavier. By nine you're more worn than you would have been, and the need for your own time is stronger. So you stay up later, and the habit makes more of the hunger it feeds on.

The fourth is the weekend. Saturday morning goes on sleeping in, and Saturday morning was the best own time you had. Chapter 6 is about that trade.

The fifth is how you feel about it. Most people in this pattern go to bed cross with themselves, and that's the last feeling of the day.

The sixth is the one I think matters most, and it's the least visible. As long as the late stretch is there, the day doesn't have to change. You can go on giving the whole of every day to other people, because there's always midnight. The habit acts as a pressure valve, and the valve lets an unworkable arrangement keep working.

Here's a question to keep for the rest of the book. When you're on the sofa past the tired point, ask, "Is this what I wanted my own time to be?" You don't have to get up. Just answer it honestly.