I'm not sure what it is about me, my brain, thought processes or anything else that makes up for this head of mine. I can be sure of one thing though, and that is, it turns on full force about 11 p.m. each night and will not let me be until the wrath of a 7 a.m. work wake-up finally forces me to shut my eyes. For as long as I can remember, I have been a complete and total night owl. The ideal of an 11 p.m. bedtime is really a pipe dream and each morning when I wake up at the crack of daylight I say to myself, "Today is different, tonight I'll go to bed at a decent time." I never do and spend the evenings working or generally organizing my life over and over, either physically or emotionally in the hopes to get some sort of peace so I can rest easy. I never rest easy though and the vicious cycle repeats itself each day.
Wake.
Tired.
Work.
Tired.
More tired.
Wide awake.
There is something about being up when others are sleeping that has always appealed to me. The quiet of the nighttime, the dim lights of the back rooms and the glow of a floor lamp. The idea that if I wanted to start something (as I often do), the chance of interruption goes down exponentially and gives a creative security between me and the next day. The uncomfortable part is, you know it has to end, you have to wash your face and brush your teeth - for me an almost cave-in to what I'd rather be doing.
Up.
Writing.
Reading.
Researching.
Etc.
It began when I was about 10 and I moved in with my dad, a large, old house that intrigued me and also scared me at the same time. I would lay awake and make stories in my head, play the what-if game incessantly to keep my mind off the fact my bedroom door creaked open from the draft, and the entrance to the attic and "Maid's Stairway" was outside my door. Often I would awake to find my father, smoking a cigar in front of his typewriter - large stacks of papers going back months around him and a glass of scotch. Walking in, I would never be yelled at for being up, instead I was asked why I was awake and at the age of 10, I would tell my dad the what-if tales I had been pondering and he would listen intently, sip his scotch, re-light his cigar and tell me it would be okay.
Brilliancy comes from madness, and although I consider myself far from mad or brilliant...I realize that these tendencies have been passed down and it's a personality trait I have to accept and embrace. My most important correspondence is done after 11 p.m., and any or all realizations about my life happen in the latest hours. My dad calls it "The Curse" but that is a far fetch from what it really is, a unique trait that shapes almost the very core of who I am.
Wake.
Tired.
Work.
Tired.
More tired.
Wide awake.
There is something about being up when others are sleeping that has always appealed to me. The quiet of the nighttime, the dim lights of the back rooms and the glow of a floor lamp. The idea that if I wanted to start something (as I often do), the chance of interruption goes down exponentially and gives a creative security between me and the next day. The uncomfortable part is, you know it has to end, you have to wash your face and brush your teeth - for me an almost cave-in to what I'd rather be doing.
Up.
Writing.
Reading.
Researching.
Etc.
It began when I was about 10 and I moved in with my dad, a large, old house that intrigued me and also scared me at the same time. I would lay awake and make stories in my head, play the what-if game incessantly to keep my mind off the fact my bedroom door creaked open from the draft, and the entrance to the attic and "Maid's Stairway" was outside my door. Often I would awake to find my father, smoking a cigar in front of his typewriter - large stacks of papers going back months around him and a glass of scotch. Walking in, I would never be yelled at for being up, instead I was asked why I was awake and at the age of 10, I would tell my dad the what-if tales I had been pondering and he would listen intently, sip his scotch, re-light his cigar and tell me it would be okay.
Brilliancy comes from madness, and although I consider myself far from mad or brilliant...I realize that these tendencies have been passed down and it's a personality trait I have to accept and embrace. My most important correspondence is done after 11 p.m., and any or all realizations about my life happen in the latest hours. My dad calls it "The Curse" but that is a far fetch from what it really is, a unique trait that shapes almost the very core of who I am.
1 comment:
I agree with you about how a night owl's existance is not a curse. I seem to come up with my most valid and thought provoking ideas, somewhere between the hours of 1 and 3 a.m. Unfortunately, I do not usually use this time to get organised in sense of the word. Maybe I should try that.
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