As a child, I never had trouble staying up late at slumber parties, chatting with friends until the wee hours of morning. However, I concurrently remember the predictable loneliness of always being the first to wake. Amid sleeping bags strewn like caterpillars knocked out by insecticide, I would roll over feebly, the only survivor. My eyes would blink into the lightless room and wish desperately for the sun to rise so I could justify my growing alertness. 5 or 6am, no matter that we had finally laid to rest around 3am--my body just liked to rise early, I thought to myself back then.
WELL, here I am at 3:39 am and have done enough research since those childhood sleepovers to know that I have some type of tendency toward insomnia, a sleep disorder, not just a mere early-set internal clock. Sometimes if I have a full schedule the next day, I actively combat my insomniac brain. Other times, I am lucky enough to catch my husband being awake at the same time as me and we are alone together during our mid-night wakenings. He is not up with me this night. But for now, knowing I have nap time available the next day, I am enjoying the insomnia. Alone time is sometimes good for the introvert at heart. And besides, I know there are others in the world awake with me. I hear sounds of night-traffic outside my open living room windows. Don't worry; the blinds are drawn so I am still safely out of view from wanderers of dubious intentions. And Jerry set up our alarm system recently, so my sense of safety is higher marked still.
I feel cozy in the light of a cream colored lamp shade to my left. I have a belly warmed by both wriggling child and--in a different compartment of that belly--digesting pieces of buttered, strawberry spread toast. Since waking this night I have: done one session of self-hypnosis; studied a chapter of scripture; emailed a few friends; and now notice the slightly drooping eyelids that signify my body will perhaps cooperate with yet another attempt to sleep.
So I am signing off. Thank you for joining me.