My infernal clock

Went out to dinner last night with friends.  A rare treat, since my husband and I are usually in bed by the time most people are sitting down to eat.  He’s up at 3:30 a.m. every morning to go to work and guess who gets up with him?  Yes, I confess, I’m one of those obnoxious people who rise and shine at an hour most consider ungodly.  I’m at the keyboard or in the kitchen baking when normal people are still snoozing and Starbucks isn’t even open, for Pete’s sake.  Blame it on my infernal…er, I mean internal clock. 

It’s ironic, because when I was a kid forced to go to bed early I used to dream of the day when I would get to stay up as late as I wanted and watch “Have Gun Will Travel” all the way through to the end.  Alas, it was not to be.  By the time I was old enough to make my own hours, I had discovered two essential truths: a) Your internal clock is not determined by your parents; and  b) the TV shows you loved as a child seldom survive the transition into adulthood.   I was not the partying kind, it seemed, and it was rare for me to make all the way to the end of “Saturday Night Live” even in the days when Gilda Radner and John Belushi were its mainstays and it was one of those water-cooler shows with skits people still talk about to this day.  Also, I became a mom at a young age, which means…well, you know how that goes: Getting up at oh-dark-in-the-morning isn’t an option; it’s an imperative.

So here I am, all these years later, with no one tell me when to go to bed and no screaming babies to wake me at an ungodly hour of the morning.  And yet I still get up, make my tea, and sit down at my desk while it’s still dark out.  Sometimes I light a candle, what I call my “Jane Austen” moment.  And I write.  It turns out my characters are even bossier than my parents and more demanding than my kids when they were little.  They determine when I go to bed at night and when I get up in the morning.  They insist I put their needs ahead of mine. Their voices are in my head all the time.  They won’t rest until I’ve worn out my keyboard (and patience) getting it right, until I’ve allowed them to say what they need to say exactly as they would in real life. 

One day when I’m old and gray I’ll put my feet up for a long overdue rest.  Then maybe I’ll finally get to watch the second half-hour of all those “Have Gun Will Travel” episodes that I missed.  I might even sleep in.   

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