the midnight jogger

You know those times when you're falling asleep, helpless and exhausted, your eyes drooping as the fading threads of your mind weave together a patchwork quilt of half-dreams, and you finally decide it's time to crawl into bed? Into your warm, pillowy bed, where you can let those weary eyelids close, relax every muscle and release your thoughts into a current of unpredictable and captivating dreams always waiting to embrace you on the dark side of your subconscious.

But first, you have to brush your teeth and wash your face, finish transferring the lesson for tomorrow's class onto your USB key, wash the last of the dishes and put them on the rack to dry, turn off the TV, stereo and lights... and when you lie down at last, you realize that the gentle fuzziness enshrouding your brain has been rudely swept away by an undesired second wind.

Balancing constantly on the verge of exhaustion throughout college had dependably subdued these curious energy reserves for the last four years, but now they are creeping back into my nights and pushing me further and further into the early a.m. hours. Despite getting up at half past seven, putting in a full day of work followed by dinner, karate, a few episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and a starlit jog to the school where I'll work tomorrow that landed me home a few minutes ago, I still can't sleep. The time is 3:11am.

I did get a new weekday record of sleep last night (almost nine hours), which made me feel amazingly awake at school today. I think it made me friendlier. Which in turn gave the kids more incentive to talk to me, certainly something I need to encourage. I even got a big hug from one of the 'cool kids', the school soccer star, a powerful leader of children. Hooray! Dear diary, maybe this means I'm popular now. Can I somehow relive my awkward junior high days as the grizzled foreign jock / occasional musician/ cat's cradle master and repair all my insecurities from that transitory time? No, I guess not, but it's nice to notice that many of those insecurities seem to have faded away with time. Along with my hairline. (well, maybe they've just been replaced by different insecurities. but I like to think that relatively mild premature balding has forced me to come to grips with my own mortality at an early age).

Anyway, now the shadowed fingers of sleep are gently brushing the fringes of my thoughts, beckoning seductively toward the dark bedroom. Hopefully now, at last, I can rest.