When I was a kid, being up all night was awesome. I would sneak downstairs and watch movies. Sometimes, when the mood hit, I would do my plug best to balance the knob so that it would provide an insight into the naughty channels (i.e. boobs). This mood seemed to hit when I was 12 and I will tell you when it stops.

Insomnia was not a word. Well, it was not a word I could spell. I was a night owl. I adored the solitude. I lived in a house with three siblings. Solitude was extraordinary and as unattainable as space and time. I also deluded the fallible belief that I was the king of night time. I could eat what I wanted and watch what I wanted. It was awesome. I would fall asleep when the toothpicks could no longer hold up my eyes – let’s say around 5 or 6 am. And then I would fall face first into a sleep that lasted until my mother threatened to set the bed on fire with me in it. She was a smoker so she had the tools handy. The week she quit, she had the tools handy and the motivation. Motive, means, and opportunity all being present, I went to the backyard and found a chair. 

Perhaps it was my lunar activities that led me to bar work. Working at a pub, after all, was being paid to be up all night and cater to other night owls. Sure, they were drunk, but why not? When I made the switch to day time work – to become a teacher – I was genuinely terrified that my system would not make the necessary switch from night owl to early bird. I figured I might have to find a school that taught night lessons. After an initial period we’ll call the days of crying and being sleepy, I amazingly did make the jump. And how! I went from being a very night owl to being a very early bird. My family was astonished; my father still doesn’t believe it. I am clearly going to do old age very well – I get up at 5 am, read paper books, and by 4 pm I could destroy a Denny’s Early Bird Special!