I’ve been padding around the house in the middle of the night as long as I can remember, and definitely as young as five.
I love the middle of the night. I love the crazed energy of a second wind — when everything is quiet. It feels OK to have heightened senses and chronic hypervigilance. I am alone, slipping in and out of silky shadows.
I hate waking early. Benjamin Franklin and all of the polymaths of all time can keep their early risings to themselves. I hate early mornings so much, that rising early is my litmus test for how much I love doing a thing.
Do I love this enough to get up at 5 am for it? I do? OK, then I can work on movies!
(Until I couldn’t, then it was HATE with a capital STAB!)
My high school had a thing called “Zero Hour.” Fuck “Zero Hour!” (Those sadists also had things called “JUG [Justice Under God] and RASSH [Required After School Study Hell.]) Sometimes my friends and I just stayed up all night, drinking coffee and smoking, rather than go to bed and try to rouse for school. I couldn’t be friends with morning people until well after college. Even now, it is not easy. But, at least now, I am in awe of them, weirdos.
Things no longer worth early mornings:
- Hiking/anything outdoorsy.
- Anyone who is sporty.
- Christmas morning. (JFC, get a Hanukkah and let me sleep in.)
- Shitty office jobs with too much bureaucratic/capitalist gore.
- Working on movies.
- Working in television.
- Working in advertising.
- Working without 100% good feelings.
It’s not to say I won't do any of these things, they just aren’t good enough for mornings now that I’m decades into my vespertine ways. And, I would definitely still get up early for anything magical, a good sunrise, or my people. I would just also need a nap later. I am a total fucking night owl.
Thank you to Annie Rachele Lanzillotto for telling me to make a list.