Wednesday, September 09, 2009

There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out

This morning, like every morning, I vowed when I finally dragged myself out of bed after hitting snooze 47 times that tonight I would go to bed early.

Early. Like, before midnight.

"For real this time," I thought. And I thought it sternly. Yes, damn it. I mean it.

I've thought this my whole life.

I am not biologically programmed to go to bed early or to get up early. I guess you could say "early" of any variety is not my thing.

There have been various attempts at change - for school, jobs, working out. (Hahaha. *wipes tears from eyes on the latter.) But staying up late and sleeping in is the template I am cut from. When god was passing out incredible awesomeness and owl-like circadian rhythms, I was right there. "Yo, god... a sprinkle of that night musk right here."

People who wake up early always think people who don't should, and they judge you for sleeping past 10. Yet people who stay up late don't judge those who go to bed at 10. Not cool early worms.

I remember when I was little my parents would put me to bed and I'd lie awake for hours, just kind of hanging out waiting to fall asleep. Eventually I'd get bored, sneak out of bed and crawl under the kitchen table, where I would then watch my parents watch tv in the living room.

(Man, I was a weird kid.)

But my dad is like me, so in the summertime, after my mom would go to bed, he'd take me outside and let me swing on the swingset in the dark while he sat on the picnic table and smoked cigarettes. I can see myself swinging under the starry Indiana sky like it was yesterday.

The first time I ever snuck out of my house I was about 10 or 11. It wasn't to do anything bad, like meet a boy (gasp!), it was because I was bored, it was forbidden and it was invitingly dark outside. So while my parents slept, I snaked myself down the steps and out the front door.

It was exhilarating. And in my feverish excitement, I danced underneath the street lamp beside our house.

Now, instead of doing interesting things like spy on people from under the kitchen table or dance like a maniac in the street, I read.

I know, booooring.

But in my head I am witness to what others aren't in these late hours. I'm in on everything. All the world is in its place and then, there are those few fleeting moments before I finally fade off when I think, "ahhh, I get it now," and everything is illuminated.

Then I wake up seven hours later and have to start all over again.

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