When you’re nine or ten, staying up all night is an adventure. The silence of the house, trying to read lips on a small black and white television flickering shadows on the wall behind you as rubber monsters crush Tokyo yet once again, the thrill of being awake through the “witching hour”, even when you didn’t know when that hour was.
When you’re in your late teens and early twenties, staying up all night is a matter of course. Whether you’re cramming for the exam, dancing the night away or finding some other way to party, the night time is simply the better part of the day. Sleeping can be done in fits the next day or the day after that, as long as you can grab an hour or two here and there, no big deal.
When you’re living in the middle ages, staying up all night is a particularly severe form of punishment. This is what happens to bad little boys who still eat the spicy foods they could easily handle twenty years ago when they could sleep the entire night without having to make a midnight trip. Heartburn is a self-inflicted inducement to show up at work with bloodshot eyes and an almost vampiric need for coffee.
The rubber monsters on the old black and white are now replaced by selections on cable TV. No longer content with family fair and 1950’s science fiction, the late night viewing is aimed much more for the adults who can’t stay up to watch in the first place. In a strange continuity, the rubber has turned to silicone, but there are amazing similarities.
My last night of torture was the direct result of a meal of bacon, ham and eggs much too close before bed. I understand that there are those vegetarians who will say that I got what I deserved from such unhealthy fare, I’ll only nod and acquiesce the point. I still had a small bon fire in the bottom of my throat the next day at work, but I was so wiped out from my heart-burn induced insomnia that even the burning couldn’t keep me awake at my computer. I have no idea what I typed, what code I wrote, or what I may have said while on the phone, but I was still employed the next day, so I must have done alright on autopilot.
Pouring coffee down my throat probably didn’t help the indigestion, but the artificial consciousness made the burn worth the effort.
When I got home, I went to bed and slept soundly and deeply.
Except for a little midnight trip, anyway……
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Why is it that all the brilliant and long-winded (smile) bloggers use this template? Mid-life minds must think and talk alike.
That's just not right: a man should be entitled to a hearty breakfast before he goes to bed. :)
Gosh, I forgot about "the witching hour!" I thought it was just some goofy thing me and my cousin used to say if he was sleeping over and we were still up at midnight. Wonder where that comes from.
Post a Comment