Dawn
Dawn is just about to break as I write this and like many other days I’m awake to hear and see the world come to life. This is probably my favorite part of the day, when I’ve caught a few glimpses at the stars and the morning light fades them slowly out into a gradient sky of navy blue and turquoise.
Service vehicles dusting the streets usually bring the first sign of life along with the sound of the paperboy walking in my driveway, crunching the gravel with a hint of discretion, as if he’s afraid he might disturb the last vestiges of my sleep. Eventually car doors start slamming shut, engines cough their way into a mellow purr and for an hour or two the world is busy with the sound of people and their machines. And then it’s silent again.
I don’t go out and join them. During these moments I usually take a break to watch the commotion and on the rare occasion that I awake in sync with the world I just listen, drink my coffee and allow myself the luxury of waking up without forcing it.
Invariably a few minutes of an internal debate go by. Should I rest for a few hours before I start working again or will I allow the caffeine time to jumpstart my system and get me through what might just as easily be the end of a 26 hour day as the beginning after 15 hours of sleep. Sometimes I debate successfully, sometimes I concede to superior logic. Which is which depends on the day. While slowly turning me into a modern-day hermit this makes me happy.
My indulgence is temporary though and there will come a time, hopefully soon, when I won’t have a choice in the matter. The evidence pierces my poorly insulated ceiling each morning as the couple living above me are roused by their two-year-old biological alarm-clock, signaling the high tide of this golden hour. A clamor of feet rushing to and fro, indiscernible voices coordinating actions, a small tornado tears down the stairs and they’re gone. While the dust settles in their wake I remain, inexplicably looking forward of a tornado of my own.
Sorry about that tornado. We’ll try to be quiet next time. I just get so excited when I have the chance to jump down a flight of stairs. My two year old shushed me but it was too late by then.
So, that’s your back scratched, then. How ’bout you scratch mine a little? I’m not saying you gotta open all the windows and wail out unto the streets when you get freaky, but a little vocalization wouldn’t hurt, would it? C’mon, do it for us poor schmucks on the top floor, we have so little else to look forward to at night…
Well, you certainly show that you have the ability to be quiet considering the sneaky way you moved in to the apartment above mine without me knowing.
Btw… that repetative squeaking sound you hear at night – that’s just my squirrel having an anxiety attack.
I guess the squirrel leaves used condoms in the stairway as well?
Over the years my routine has gotten more….well routine. As a teenager I turned the day around, waking until the wee hours of the morning, like most teenagers do.
But now I see the approach of midnight as a signal to go to bed. And an 8 am alarm isn’t greeted with annoyed snoozing. Most of the time.
Same here Björgvin. I resist the routine every chance I get and become a nightowl every time I take extended leave, but it gets harder once you get older. Having a set start/end time for work every day, plus the aforementioned biological clock calling out for you in the wee small hours means I don’t have the luxury of burying my head ’til the crack of noon.
Can never get to sleep before midnight, though. Don’t know how.