Now that I’m on sleep meds, I have to confront this other problem with my soul. Even given the ability to regulate my sleep with no side effects, I’ll stay up until 4:30 in the morning voluntarily. Even fight sleep.
Why? I don’t know. These hours have been mine my whole life, mine and no one else’s, as I seem to solely date and marry people who can fall asleep instantly and stay asleep with no trouble, and also who need to be up early in the morning. So my whole being thinks they belong to me, they are precious hours when I am alone and myself.
And there comes a moment, every night I stay up, when I feel quickened and awake and real, I feel on the verge of some epiphany, some starry apotheosis that I can never quite realize. But if I could only stay up another hour, surely, then I would…I don’t know. Transform.
Usually this is when I start to listen to melancholy indie music and/or bombastic music that makes me want to seethe and leap high and become–but I grasp at nothing in the dark and come away with only wistfulness and a completely upended circadian rhythm. I don’t want to stay up late. (Well, I do, but I also want to get up early.)
But that feeling comes and I chase it and never catch it.
It’s 4:30. I have Shake It Out on repeat. Sitting in bed in the dark winter of the night. I wish someone were awake with me. But the epiphany–oh my god, it is Epiphany, isn’t it? Right now, tonight, since I haven’t gone to bed yet. How strange. The epiphany never comes, it just crackles along my skin and it’s probably stupid chemicals firing for no reason, but it never comes so what would I say to someone who could, like the fairy tale task, stay up all night with me?
The night is another country. Half of me lives there.