All Through the Night

I took what I thought was going to be a short nap, maybe twenty minutes. That was almost 7 hours ago. As a result, it’s almost 2:30 in the morning, and I am wide awake. I have no idea what I want to say, I just want you people to sit with me while I try to think of something wonderful.

Here in the dark and quiet recesses of the evening transitioning to dawn, I write. Actually, a better description would be that I sit here. If something hits, I’ll write it down. Otherwise, I am generally staring off into space, hoping that something flying by will create brilliance on my part. I’ll let you know if I get there. I’m just feelin’ nice right now, and despite being stone-cold sober, there’s an air around me of intoxication. Despite having almost a full night’s sleep, my circadian rhythm is telling me that I should be in bed. I am punch-drunk with the type of exhaustion you feel when you’ve been asleep for a long time, but not resting. You wake up and your body is just as tired and achy as when you drifted off.

As a result, I’m sitting in my bean bag chair. I like how it molds to me instead of making me bend to it. When I first got it, I thought I’d bought the wrong size, like it was for a child or something. Then I figured out that you have to sit in it for a long time before it starts to stretch out. Now, it’s perfect. I sleep in it regularly.

Dana and I are not angry people. The reason I often sleep in my bean bag chair instead of with Dana in bed is that I am not as good as she is about starting a TV show and staying awake all the way until the end. And then, I have the audacity to not be very good-natured when she tries to wake me up enough to get me back to our bedroom. Over time, we’ve both just agreed that if I’m asleep, just leave me there.

I try to be sensitive to the fact that I cannot do it very often, this sleeping in front of the TV thing. Not sleeping together in and of itself will not hurt Dana and me, but it doesn’t help, either. My first wife and I were not as close as Dana and me, so when there weren’t many things we connected on, not sleeping together became a huge, huge deal. That’s because I was “falling asleep to the TV.” I didn’t realize that I was using it as a coping mechanism to get out of sleeping next to her. That’s never happened in the history of my relationship with Dana, it’s just something that I’m aware of in myself.

One of the things that Al-anon has given me is the valuable lesson of self-inventory. Know the ways in which you are an angel, and the ways in which you are an asshole. You can’t believe what knowing yourself will do to you. It’s like getting glasses specifically designed to show you bullshit where it exists. You become sort of a bullshit-detecting superhero… mostly because you figure if you’re capable of it, so is everyone else.

I need some iced tea. Hold please.

There, that’s better. I’ve had a bit of a cold the last few days, so I’ve been trying to keep my voice moisturized and fairly happy. I put agave syrup in my tea to make it a little more viscous and do the whole “throat coat” thing. I’m not coughing as much, but you can definitely tell I’ve got a bit of laryngitis going on. My speaking voice hasn’t quite lowered the octave, but I’m sure I could cigar and vodka it down if I had to.

Speaking of singing, I’m pretty sure that altos and basses live on cigars and vodka, while sopranos and tenors live on shoes and compliments.

And on that note, I’m off.

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