A Night Person

Ever since I was a wee lad I've had slight insomnia. I remember being in grade school, staring at the clock, watching it go from 9 to 10 to 11.... then turning my alarm clock face down when I couldn't stand it anymore, thinking about how tired I was going to be the next day. Laying in the dark bored out of my mind I couldn't do anything but lay there quietly - it was past my bedtime. It was just me and my thoughts.

My family would tell me to settle down, its time for bed. They'd ask why I wasn't tired. As I got older, they assumed something was wrong. But nothing ever was. I'd tell them, look, if I could go to sleep I would. I'm not trying to do this.

In high school I'd get yelled at if anyone noticed light under my door at three in the morning, so I'd put a towel at the base of my door and read by flashlight.

I read and read and read.

There's something about night. When it hits a certain hour, I just feel energized. I've read that there are daytime writers and night time writers. I guess I'm a night time writer, with one exception: I tend to write a bit soon as I wake up in the morning (dreams are another blog topic for the future). A lot of the time I'll wake up, stumble right to the laptop and start typing.

In the deep hours of night, the world is quiet and you're all alone. Sometimes you're dying for conversation. You call people in the insomniac version of a drunk dial and they want to know what's wrong, but nothing ever is.

People don't know when to call me because they have no idea when I'll be awake or asleep. If I didn't work from home, if I had an office job, I have no idea what I'd do. Probably what I did in high school: drift around like a zombie making stupid jokes and inappropriate comments because I'm slap happy.

Sorry about that. I really am a nice guy. I'm not trying to do this.

Being up all night regularly, you end up haunting your own house. The only light on is in whatever room you're in. Everyone is sleeping, so you creep around in the dark, trying to be quiet, but fully conscious at how much noise you make doing simple things.

If you make yourself something to eat in the daytime, you don't realize the racket you're creating. But at 4 a.m., you feel like you're a cast member in Stomp. I can't count how many times I've apologized to bleary eyed family member, friend, or lover standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

I'm not saying this is what made me a writer. I don't think there is one single thing. But there's no doubt that not being able to sleep at night had something to do with it. I think about that little kid staring into the dark with only his imagination to pass the time, and that skinny teenager silently turning pages as the sun came up with a certain level of fondness now. In the movie of my life it would be the world's slowest, quietest, most boring training montage.