Archive for October, 2007

On sleeping at night. Not during the day.

Tuesday, October 16th, 2007

I am a night person. I have been since I was sixteen. That means I have eleven years of reinforcing habits that say I like to sleep during the day and be awake when the sun is not in the sky.

I have not been so bad that I can not keep a job with normal people hours it is just that a third part of me is asleep during that time. That third part of me wakes up around six at night and likes to keep me awake, alert, and creative until all hours of the night.

On advice from an esteemed colleague I went out for a brisk stroll hoping that the expenditure of energy might convince my brain that sleeping, and soon, would be in our best interests.


While taking that stroll the most interesting things caught my attention. First was an early nineties civic wagon for $1,800. Except for a small dent it seemed in ok condition. It even was a stick shift. Next was a bar within stumbling distance of my house. That got me to thinking who I might take to said bar if I had the opportunity and what kind of drinks they might serve there. An adventure for another night I am sure. My walking took me to darker parts of town where the street lights were farther and farther apart or not even there to begin with. Slow moving large cars started me thinking about gang activity and the possibility of violence.

The imagined bar going partner was then transformed in to a tipsy lady ready for the evening out to end but only after a short walk back to my abode. The surroundings got my imagination going; wondering “What ifs” and “What thens”. A few scenarios played out in my mind as I walked. The first borrowed the dark figure on the corner a few blocks up the street who, luckily for me, passed to the other side of the street as I came closer. The dark figure accosted me and my date as we walked back from the bar demanding money and swearing profusely. My date exclaimed, “What the fuck?” as I stepped in between her and the would be assailant while pushing her back a few steps. Upon my loud denial to do anything of the sort because I spent all my money at the bar a shiny metal weapon was pointed in my direction. In the ensuing grappling to disarm the thug the gun goes off and my date is grazed on the arm. The hooligan flees while I assess the wound and comment on how much of a pussy it takes to shoot the girl and not the guy.

Just imagining this gets my heart going. Even remembering it now as I write I can feel my pulse quicken and my heart pound in my chest.

With still a ways to walk home I imagine darker scenarios but with the same players.

This time I am the one who is shot. Left shoulder. Just below the collar bone. Enraged to the point of irresistible urges the gun spins away in to the dark and clatters to a stop in the street. Despite the shadow created by the muggers hoodie my right hand finds his neck and uses it as a handle to slam the man to the ground. Supine, the man is held down by my right foot on his neck. As the blue shirt I am wearing changes to red I stare in to the very wide and white eyes of the would be mugger and tell him in a conversational tone, “You’ve got two choices. You can either go to prison a cripple or die here in the street.

That is as far as I get with that one as I started feeling very hyped up and I realize that my imagination is getting the better of me. A fight or flight response was not what I wanted to get from this late night constitutional.

I guess I will try reading a book.