I am a morning person. A very early morning person. Some of this has to do with my insomnia issues. But it’s also my body clock. I am much more active and alert in the AM than in the afternoons. I love being awake when no one else is. I discovered this when I lived in the desert city – long before I had read Stephen King’s The Stand or watched any zombie movie or show such as “The Walking Dead”. I loved driving around imagining I was the only person still alive – without the vampires or creatures that often arise in such apocalyptic stories. It was always after the bars closed, when all the drunks had stumbled home for the night, with or without a random partner. When the downtown was dark – a ghost town – prior to any early morning diners turning on their neon lights. It was my nirvana. I could breathe, be myself and think without any outside noise.
I was so lost then. I had friends that were in “adult” jobs, but I couldn’t find anything that held me, except my own creativity. And I would never give up that first year of freedom to explore my artistic talents, without the pressure of having a job. Yes, it wasn’t easy. I was confused a lot. About myself, men or boys, and life in general. I spent a great deal of time in dark places, but I had an outlet. And that helped.
I awoke this morning, Saturday, and looked at my clock. 3:30 AM. I tried to rearrange my pillows and covers to try and sleep for a little longer. It worked for 45 minutes. But this is usual, and I appreciate the fact that my parents instilled napping in me at an early age, because I need them. When I am with my partner, I will get up this early, have caffeine (which is imperative to anyone who knows me, do not speak to me until a cup of coffee). But if we were together, I would crawl back into bed, to sleep or just hold him, and be so grateful I have someone who feels so good when his body is combined with my own. And I would stay in bed long past the hours when I usually awake.
But he is a rarity. He is the only man I have been able to share a bed with. For the entire night. My husband and I were both light, easily disturbed sleepers, so we had separate bedrooms, but always began our nights together in one of these rooms. We were still connected, in so many ways, physically, but when we had to sleep, we knew the drill. Which is why he didn’t die in my arms, or how I didn’t know he was going into arrest of his heart. Had I know, would it have made a difference?
But this has been going on for years. As a teenager, not being able to sleep was torture, especially as a straight A student and knowing what school held for me the next day. I would look at my clock and count down the hours, “if I fall asleep now, I will get X number of hours of sleep”. It never worked. I spent years just staring at my clock and plowing through my days.
So I love the weekends, when I know I can get up when my body forces me to, but then I can nap, whenever I want. What I HATE about the weekends are the paranoia my partner goes through. I was just interrogated again. I had just, just, woken up from a nap and as I said before, caffeine is my friend. It takes me a bit to boot up. Instead, what I got was a call from him and an interrogation. Because I didn’t sound “normal”, which in my opinion was because I was still half-asleep, but he immediately assumed I had been drinking for hours. Last night, when I wanted to get off the phone and go to bed, he thought I was having an affair. ENOUGH. Leave me and my life the fuck alone. You cannot control me from 2,000 miles away. NO, I am not having an affair (too exhausting and toxic) and NO I am not drinking. I am in my Saturday mode of recovering from the week and not being as sharp as I usually am at work. Shoot me now, if that is a crime.
I am tired of this. Every weekend, it is the same. But it is not my fault he will not spend the extra money to come see me. It is not my fault that I am stuck in a 9-5 job that keeps us both afloat and on health insurance, that I cannot leave whenever I decide to. He has much more freedom than I do. I resent that. And I resent his penny-pinching ways. Because I know it will come back to haunt me. If he doesn’t come down, if we don’t see one another for 4-6 weeks. The inquiry will continue and get rougher. Every weekend, every day, will be another attempt to decode my secret life down here. And sadly, I don’t have one.
I am sure he was pissed early on, because I was smoking a cigarette, which I haven’t in a week. I was calling my parents though, and felt I needed to have the boundary of the “fire in my hand” as Seinfeld once said, or something akin to that. It gives one space. It allows me to be a rebel, one I was never allowed to be. And yet, this frustrates him.
However annoying his questions are, I persevere. Why? Some days, I do not know. I love him, and yet I could be alone. I would adjust and be comfortable with this. I would miss him tremendously, but I would eventually move on. I hate saying that, hate thinking that. Yet, at times, I think to clear some clutter and noise from my head, it might be what I need to do. And maybe he needs that as well? Or do we simply need to be around each other, as in any normal relationship, more often where we can find our groove again, and the incessant inquisition will stop?
I do not know. What I do know is it the pre-dawn hours again, and I am awake. It is now Sunday. Tomorrow my freedom will be gone, but for today, I will simply try and enjoy the silence and play with the words that want to flow out of me. That is all I can do. I cannot control anyone else’s moods or days. I can only control my own. And some days that means turning off the phone. I hope today won’t be one of those. I hope today there will be peace.
It is my wish everyday. It is still black as ink outside, so I will wait another hour before I run my errands. And then I’ll talk with him after he awakens, and we’ll see the mindset for the day. All I know now is I refuse to let his emotions cloud what I am going through or affect my days. And if he cannot see that, understand it and digest it, then we are at an impasse…
© Sorrow & Kindness