December 11, 2008
When sane individuals are sleeping, lonely people are sliding around the internet reading about sex lives they wish they had, and teenage boys (both physically and mentally) are scoping out the free porn pages (I deleted all my files some time back..) I find myself reading.
The house is quiet, except for the drone of the fan, must have the white noise.... all is dark, and a fresh beverage is at the ready, clouds of aromatic cigar smoke are following me around, and the book is well broken in. Could there be a better moment?
I slide down under the pile of quilts, adjust the pillows, put on the glasses, and reach for the book on top of the stack next to the bed. I'm never really sure what it will be, right now it's an Alex Delaware murder mystery, literary jerry springer, but fun. I start out rebending and breaking the book's back so it cooperates, figuring out which dog eared page I was actually on, and then I begin to read.
I start to feel the pull of sleep when I notice that I've read the same page repeatedly and suddenly wake up the third or fourth time and relight the cigar.. usually at this point I freshen the beverage, run a dog or two out of my chair, and curmudgeon my way through the darkened house back to the warmth of the bed. With this second wind and fresh load of caffeine I begin to hit my stride, flipping page after page getting ever closer to the answer of the riddle when I look up and notice the time... Damn... I have to get up in three hours... but I always manage to get at least an hour more in...
I'm sure this is why I generally have no memory of the mornings activities and come to my senses with a start of a violent head shake half way to work, checking to make sure I have my wallet and looking in the back seat to see if I remembered to drop James off at school... I'm in a stupor until the third or so bucket of coffee has been downed and do pretty well until around three or four that afternoon when it begins to catch up with me.
This is the life of an insomniac... if it's not the internet, it's wood carving or a good movie, but after it's done there is always the irresistible draw of the book... doesn't matter if you arrive at midnight or two a.m. they are just waiting there, daring you to pick them up.. smirking with that little "I was waiting for you" face... and I always give in... although lately, the damned things have begun to talk back to me... maybe I should try a bit harder to listen, I feel they might be trying to share something important.