Insomnia: My nocturnal life.

It's only 3:30am here in Wyoming... but I'm not much of a sleeper.  I used to think that I should fuss more about not sleeping.  Granted, many minutes of many nights have ticked by with the sound of clocks annoying my last good nerve.  My brain seemingly adept at its nagging inability to 'sushhhh' the synaptic chaos of lying in bed utterly s l e e p l e s s.  But I don't begrudge my wakefulness.  More accurately I savor my nocturnal life.  Exceedingly.

In my teen years, sleepless nights provoked a delinquency that the day time did not.  Instead of thrashing against lying prone in wakefulness... I'd creep out my window to the roof instead - straddling a nearby dormer in the chill of night, eyes adjusting to absorb glimmering moonlit fields, fence and forest.  Feeling defiant that sleep could not rob that moment - knowing my parents would go ballistic if they saw.

My loves, my homes, my babies... and most of my finest memories and adventures are enveloped by outstanding nights.  X-rated nights, purple haze nights, bizarre foreign nights, and exceptional nights that forever changed and elevated my cognizant soul.

Years later, post-wreck, the first clear memories I had in the weeks following... I was sitting in an odd reclining hospital wheelchair, gazing at the moon and stars with tears streaming.  I later learned the nurses had caved-in to relentless pleading and positioned me under the stars, swathed in layer-upon-layer of 'baked-warm' white cotton blankets.  Thus proving once and for all, I was a devout insomniac - even busted up with a head injury. 

In midlife I'd even fight the intrusion of sleep to saturate myself in the nocturnal realm of my home.  No voices or phones calling my attention.  No calendar  commanding me in the pre-dawn... simply a stealthy quiet, shadowy world - peaceful beyond belief.   With nightlights stationed in every room the glow and reflections of plants make my house feel toasty, in a 'moonlit jungle' - where I putter around like a wild thing savoring my exotic dominion.  I made this nest.... I own this, and everything around me is a refection of my life.  I reign supreme here.  How could anything possibly be more soothing, elevating and comfortable?    

Although I'm fairly certain my wheelchair won't perch on a roof dormer... its given me a unique means of diversion in prowling.  Since my episodic nocturnal adventures have increased in recent years, I've been inclined to 'take my show on the road'.  Sometimes while still in my jammies and robe, I'll blast out my front door full throttle in a powerchair.  Racing off for a late jaunt in the empty streets of Laramie - and I take full advantage, racing down the center stripe, ignoring crack heaved sidewalks completely.  Under a bright moon and clear mountain starlight... I cherish high speed solo excursions.   Cops occasionally notice me darting through dim cross streets several blocks away.  They'll turn off lights, parking far ahead of my path and startle me as I streak past, oblivious to their presence. They've earned retribution from me tapping their car when I find 'em indulging in a moments "shut-eye".  The game goes on....

I sleep even less now than I did when I was young.  And I still have difficulty grasping that its supposed to be a problem.  Maybe I am older and hormonally calmer - with 'age' giving over a greater physiological peace with the world?  Perhaps I've simply grown clever, agreeing to mingle with each moment in spite of the hour in which it occurs?  I dunno. But its purdy much a given, that I've always been - and will always be - a luna-tic.

 Ni-night.....