My old friend insomnia has been coming to call quite frequently in the last week or two. It’s been a long time. Here’s the thing, though, I remember hating these long, sleepless hours. I remember bemoaning the fact that I would be tired the next day and getting so angry about not being asleep that I couldn’t possibly fall asleep. Now, I almost relish it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m getting to be an old lady and these late nights are taking their toll. So yes, I might be a little more emotional and bit more prone to over-caffeination. That’s okay. Here’s why:
~Sitting in silence with my dog sleeping on my lap while I read
~The chill night air battling to seep through my hoodie (which I can only wear at night this time of year)
~The rustle of the last pages as I manage to finish books I’ve been working on for too long
~Trying to be oh, so quiet in the kitchen and catch the tea kettle before it whistles
~The gentle scraping of my pen in my journal
~The quick, quiet tapping of my keyboard as I finally find myself writing again (night provides far better scope for the imagination!)
~The quiet kind of inspiration that seems so real that the world seems to fade away and only comes from feeling completely alone in the silence
So while I may not have missed the feeling of fighting to keep my eyes open for the first two hours of my work day, I’ve decided I have missed my late nights immensely.