The last time I left my house for a nighttime event that had me awake past midnight was Elton John’s concert in Detroit during his “Farewell Yellow Brick Road” tour. By the time my spouse and I were seated at 8 p.m., during the opening bars of “Bennie and the Jets,” I was already wondering how I was going to survive not just the night but the next two days as well.
Before this concert, the last time I was sentient past midnight was during my engagement in Rome — I learned the hard way that Romans eat late dinners and stay up even later.
Courtesy of the author
Am I being hyperbolic? Sure. I clearly survived the experience. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t kicking and screaming the entire time.
I wake up early
I routinely wake up around 5:30 a.m. (without an alarm), and I am rarely outside my home beyond 8 o’clock at night, let alone partying in a distant city.
I don’t even eat after 6 p.m., unless something actually prevents me from stuffing my face, like an appointment I can’t reschedule or a family gathering that involves a late dinner. I am typically in bed with a cat or two, a night mask plastered to my forehead, a bite splint firmly affixed to my lower jaw, and a book in hand by 7:30 p.m. With summer around the corner, the sun stays up later than I do.
Courtesy of the author
Sometimes, if I’m feeling spicy, I text my friends with young kids to “brag” about my recumbent position (while they’re wrangling bathtime, teeth-brushing, and bedtime resistance). Thankfully, they are all still friends with me.
I can barely function if I’m not in bed early
When I was growing up, my parents used to say, “Nothing good happens after midnight.” I’ll do one better: Nothing good happens after 8 p.m.
I am 46 years old and absolutely done pretending that nightlife is desirable. If I don’t abide by my early schedule, I can barely function the next day. And this doesn’t mean a little bit of brain fog that can be knocked out with a morning cup of coffee.
I’m talking, the sort of knock-down, drag-out sleep-deprived incoherence that has me wondering whether I remembered to put on pants, a question that doesn’t occur to me until I’m shopping for produce at the grocery store. And all because I deviated from my rigid sleep/wake schedule.
The truth is, there are very few scenarios, events, and people for whom I will stay awake past 9 or 10 o’clock at night. I believe I’d only need one hand to count the invitations that would seduce me into that choice. My husband accepts this about me, and while he can do what he wants, he mostly follows suit.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, friends, and a plethora of musicians and comedians. I grew up wanting to be a professional singer. I am now an author for children, and — perhaps ironically — many of them are young enough to have curfews that prevent them from staying up past a certain time to read. That delights me. Children need their sleep. We all need our sleep.
But unless you’re Elton John or Afroman — yes, I have tickets to the rapper’s Freedom Of Speech tour this summer — I’m sorry, do I look like a bat or a tree frog to you? I’m afraid we’ll have to meet during the day.
