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!
I can’t stay up late most days anymore, but last Friday was an exception. I decided to wile away the night and early morning hours with Columbo, reading, and Bigfoot TV. I snacked on popcorn and drank fruit punch Crystal Lite. It was like being 12 again, but with no naughty stations – unless you consider Bigfoot naughty, which most of us do. It was a lovely evening. No obligations to wake up to and no worries that require my attention just now. What could be better? I have found that a big part of life is loving in adulthood what I hated in my youth: quiet nights, being confined to my room, being told to nap. The irony is as gooey as the syrup on an Early Bird Special.
As if in retribution, insomnia comes three days later. She comes early week when she comes. And I am powerless to avoid it. I fall asleep early with a book on my face and at 3ish I open my eyes. I am wide awake. Insult joins injury with the two animals and another human who are sleeping soundly and in what can only be described as intense comfort. I make my way to the couch and bring my book. The dog, perhaps in solidarity or maybe not to be left out, comes out and sleeps between my legs. I read for a while and nothing happens. There is such frustration being awake enough at 4 am to fly a Lear Jet.
With 20 minutes until I have to get up, I fall into a deep sleep. It’s not my alarm that awakens me, but Burke threatening me and tapping my arm. I open my eyes and sigh. I consider risking another few minutes and the snooze button, but Burke is getting irked. She has motive, means, and opportunity, and there’s no chair in the yard.
