Dark Winters Wear You Down, Up Again To See The Dawn, In Your Worn Sweatshirt, And Your Mother's Old Skirt, It's Enough To Turn My Studies Down

--"Young Adult Friction", The Pains of Being Pure At Heart

When people first find out that most nights I have a hard time sleeping they always ask the same things. Am I depressed? Am I stressed out? Even people that have gotten used to the idea that I only get four or five hours of sleep each night still attribute it to the fact that I'm not getting the right balance in my life--the right balance of food, the right balance of exercise, the right balance of fulfillment in my life. They believe that there's this huge in my life that I'm trying to fill during the hours I should be sleeping.

I believe it's something much simpler than that. I'm just a person who likes to do the work I love when nobody is around me. The more I analyze it, the more I realize that some of the most fulfilling activities I do are done when everything is quiet and when, for the most part, I'm by myself. I've never been a group guy. But it's even more than that, I've never been much of a loud guy. I like things that can be done quietly, secretly almost. One only has to look at the hours I tend to write my blog posts here to see that I'm a person who thrives when no one else is stirring (not even a mouse). I write most of my fiction then as well because I find the hours between ten and three in the morning the least distractive. You don't get the sounds of people walking outside the building, you don't get the usual noises associated with life as we know it, and, most importantly, you don't get life trying to intrude upon you in the form of phone calls, e-mails, or what have you. I can truly be alone with my thoughts.

Sure, I'll get the occasional call at two in the morning just because I've made it clear that I don't mind them since I'm up anyway. Or I'll get the spontaneous request to head down to the Denny's in Orange County because somebody is just getting back from somewhere and she doesn't know another soul that would be up when I'm up. But, for the most part, the night time is my time to concentrate on me. It's the time I do my real work. It's the time I do my real thinking.

People are always praising the summer, when the sun's out and when there's actual light to see by.

But me? I've always been a winter person, when the sky's clouded up and there's not much incentive to venture out into the greyish environs around us. I've always cherished more the activities that can be done indoors--a nice conversation over dinner, a lazy dusk spent watching movies with old friends (and some new ones), laying in bed next to people not to sleep but just to feel what it's like to have human contact that doesn't always necessitate sexual connotations. And, of course, to put my brain to use and read a book, or maybe write a book. Hell, I even enjoy watching some insane program on television because that's when all the fun programming comes out, in the dead hours when they think nobody is paying attention.

There's something to be said about crossing over to the twilight time, when you don't have to be active, but you choose to be. There's something about being able to concentrate on all the thoughts that never quite make it into the daylight. When all is dark and cold and austere, that's when you can let loose with the ideas that you might have hesitated to indulge before. At least for me, under the cover of that metaphysical winter is where I feel the most alive.

So it isn't a matter of not being able to sleep (though that happens sometimes); it's more of a matter of choosing not to sleep and waste away my best hours.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers