deeplyshallow // probably inevitable

probably inevitable

A few days ago, perched at the breakfast counter, one of the usual waitress girls was looking exhausted, and commented that I looked anything but. You’re a morning person, huh, she said. I don’t remember what my answer was; I think I was actually incredibly tired that day. Mostly I like to consider myself a morning person. I just don’t much like not having a choice in the matter.

I grew up in one of those ridiculous houses where the father likes to wake up at four or five in the morning to rattle (smash, really) around the kitchen, making far more noise than his simple tasks of brewing coffee and pouring a bowl of Cheerios really requires. This is probably because his father did the same thing for years and years. As a result, I am a considerate and quiet morning person when I happen to wake hours ahead of anyone else. I walk lightly, close every door gently, even try to start the car softly if I’m going out for anything.

And the road, early in the morning, is one of my favorite places. It’s almost apocalyptic, how empty it can be. Flying down city streets ad highways before much of anything is moving around gives you one of those alone-in-the-world kinds of feelings that are so rare. When I start road trips, I like to be on the road by four a.m. Mornings during the week I like to leave for work nice and early, kill a little time out in the air, set my day up in the most relaxed possible way. (Granted, the last few mornings have been very cold, and extremely foggy. Still relaxing, if you don’t mind the numb ears.

Lately it seems I am falling asleep later and later, and waking up earlier and earlier. I open my eyes before our two alarms go off. I wake up several times during the night. I don’t know what the waitress was talking about; I have felt more tired these past two weeks than I have in a while. It’s almost five a.m. right now, and I don’t know why I couldn’t fall asleep tonight, but I couldn’t. The only sound in the house is my cat, snoring. It’ll mess with your head when even the cat sleeps better than you do.

I wonder sometimes if the insomnia is something built-in, or if it’s a consequence of something else. The only thing I can imagine is that those years growing up in Alaska, where the sun hung high throughout the night, and darkness dropped in one night and stayed for a few months, messed with my sleep schedule. I’m not sure that’s it, though; I don’t recall having problems sleeping until junior high, when we lived in Texas.

The last thing that I need right now is another night like the one this one has turned into. Sitting here in the dark all I can think about is how many nights I’ve spent just like this — desperately tired but completely awake, dreading the day to come. Must be hundreds by now. They say you can get used to just about anything, but I don’t think you ever really get used to this. But maybe that’s not even the worst part. Maybe the worst part is that nobody else ever gets used to it, either. I’m no picnic when I’m not sleeping, I know that. But it would be nice if I was the only one who did.