I remember when I was young (20's) and I thought the coolest thing was to stay out late. I went dancing, went to midnight
showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show, and, from time to time, I necked. No, that's what my mother did. I made out.
Now, I'm no longer in my 20's. Not even in my 30's. <sigh> And I stay up late to write and edit.
The house is quiet, the dogs are snoring, as is my husband, and I am in my element. The truth is, I'm a night person
(duh), but the real deal here is that I like to stay up because it makes me feel young.
That is, until the next morning. Life goes on in our household, whether I go to bed at 11:15 PM or 4:15 AM.
The dogs race down the stairs and out the door, desperate to pee and smell the backyard for marauding male dogs who may
have marked my females dogs' territory. The scoundrels! How dare they pee on my girls' lawn! (Another
treatise about the male dogs in our neighborhood is still percolating, but get ready! Finely-honed insults, aimed at
the breeding male dogs in our fine city, and the idiots who own them, will soon grace this website. Yellow lab owners,
beware!)
My husband has gotten up and is gone by 7 AM, but not before telling me he has only one clean shirt left. (He couldn't
have told me that later, like, at 8 o'clock PM? Did he think I'd run down to the laundry before noon to do his shirts?
What kind of maniac is he?)
My son has awakened at 7:30, either on his own (depending on when he went to bed the night before) or by me. 7:30
is the golden time, because that's when the cartoon 'Garfield' comes on. I cringe when I see what my kid watches as
he prepares his smart little brain for another day of third grade. Garfield is mean, and the commercials that are dished
out with this non-PBS show are enough to make me become Wicked Mother and make Garfield and his friends take a hike.
But, without Garfield, not only would I have to be awake and aware enough to actally encourage my son to get out of bed,
I'd have to actually have to speak to my wonderful kid, and make sense. On three hours of sleep, it ain't happening.
So, I 'party', here alone, at my computer, while a novel I'm editing awaits my vicious red pencil treatment. Or
a novel of mine gets another chapter.
All I can say is, thank heavens for public school, or I'd have to grow up and become a real mom, who is coherent before
noon. Oh, yeah. I do have to do that, every single stinking summer!
