I’m sitting here writing this at 3.07 on a Saturday morning and I’m more alert than I was at 3.07 yesterday afternoon … or 8.56 on Thursday morning … or any other time this week when the sun was shining.
I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve tried to fit in with the world of normal, diurnal people, but it’s just not working.
I’m an owl and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’ve fought the nocturnal nature for years. When you live in the real world with a real job, you simply have to. Unless your job is Night-time Security Guard or Boogie Monster. The early mornings tend to force you into an early-to-bed routine. And you really do have to stay awake when teaching a classroom full of children.
|The boogie monster, not me! |
Just thought I should clarify.
Even being a stay-at-home mum requires regular hours because the kiddies start to poke you in the face to wake you up when mealtimes come and go and there’s nothing in their tummies. And somebody has to make sure they get to preschool and school and soccer and tennis and cricket in something other than their pyjamas.
So, out of necessity, I’ve lived the diurnal life for half a century.
But now, I work from home and my kids are all grown up. My days are more flexible.
And my body and mind seem to have cottoned on to this fact and have said, ‘Enough!’
Actually, they’ve started shouting, ‘ENOUGH!’ like a wharfie yelling to his mates that it’s time for smoko.
Which is why I’m writing this at 3.07 in the morning. I’m drinking tea and eating an apple raisin muffin. (Lunch? Afternoon tea? Who knows?) And I'm loving it!
Once this blog is drafted, I’ll snuggle up on the lounge and watch a bit of TV and crochet a bit of my granny rug. Afterwards, I might do a spot of online research regarding log fires for my new house, and the internet will be as fast as Speedy Gonzales because I won’t be trying to squeeze my information through those mysterious cables with a hundred thousand other locals because they’re all asleep. (Except for the night time security guards, the boogie monsters and a whole heap of teenagers who are still playing online games with their friends.) I might read a few chapters of my Fredrik Backman book, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, or I might make another cup of tea and just sit and watch the sunrise. And then, once the birds start singing and my family members start to jump through showers and pour cereal into bowls, I’ll sneak off to bed and sleep.
And I won’t even have to check under my bed to make sure the boogie monster isn’t hiding in wait for me. I won’t give him a moment’s thought, because he’ll be clocking off and heading home to bed himself.