Even though I have been swallowed by the hours that I work, I *do* love this part of the night. I enjoy being in my house, surrounded by the sounds of my family sleeping and dreaming; and snoring, good God, let’s not forget the snoring. The hum and the thump of the washer and dryer in the hall behind the office and the thrum of water in the kitchen as the dishwasher completes the task that I have set for it; these are comforting to me. I like my cats curled under my chair, balls of fur and trust and purrs. The apartment is quiet except for these little domestic sounds. I am the only creature stirring. Eventually, I will wind down myself and go lay down in my giant bed, surrounded by pillows and quilts and fuzzy blankets. I will burrow there for a bit and let my brain compose a song of sleep. I will gaze at the glowing, blue numbers on the ceiling(*)and get up one -last- time to go and gaze at my daughter.
For many people, tomorrow is Tuesday. Or rather, it is is Tuesday right now. However, for me it is Sunday evening. Tomorrow is my Monday. I will rise at around 2 and wait for Summer to be home. We’ll play, do her homework and have many, many snacks. (She is, she assures me daily, after all, the ‘baby who ate Tokyo’). Eventually, I will put some work togs on and wait for J to come home and give me the car. I’ll dash against traffic going the opposite way — after all, most folks are headed home from work. My work shift is from 5PM to 2AM. After work, its a quick jog down the road to home and the quiet puttering around the house that I can do without waking anyone.
* J, my husband, the geek – if it makes thunder & rain noises AND casts the alarm clock numbers on the ceiling, WOW!) Mom, if you are reading this — what was the name of the things that Grandma found at Big Lots? Jimcracks? Was that it? That’s my new clock. I must admit the nature sounds are soothing and the numbers on the ceiling make it easier to panic in the morning/afternoon. Is it still morning if you wake at 2 in the afternoon? Is it still breakfast if you eat rolled turkey slices? I miss Dad’s hashblacks and your good coffee. I will never understand why my good Columbian, though fabulous, is never as tasty as your Folgers Decaf.