Looking out my windows, the lights against a dark sky, tease me, fill me with a wander lust I rarely have during the day. The first man I slept with after I was on my own did not thrill me as much as the thirty minute drive on the expressway to head back home to my own house. Yes, I traveled to have sex with a man who made me smile, but not enough to stick around all night. Of course, there were the dogs. I am home every night to take care of the hounds. Eight years ago it was two dogs, now it is five.
Still, if there were no dogs, I would have hit the road to head back to my own bed. The drive home on 285, the beltway that circles Atlanta, gave me time to sort my thoughts. About life. About death. About what would come next. I'd look out far beyond the expressway, lights in the distance, and imagine other peoples' lives. As cars sped past me, I'd wonder why they were on the road at such an ungodly hour. Two in the morning seemed to be an odd time for travel.
Nothing mattered except I inhaled the darkness and drank in all the twinkling lights. Thinking about the other drivers shooting past me made me feel alive. Whole again, while the daylight made me feel fractured.
All these years later, the late night still holds magic. At five I am restless if I am home alone with no plans to head out. An uneasiness crawls over me. By seven I can relax. That time of day when family heads home, and no one is coming to my home, freaks me out. The air whispers to me, something, someone, is missing. The sun still toys with me. Look, it is light out, you should be out. And most days I am. Out and about. Dinner with friends. Shopping if I have no plans. Busy work, fun time with my buddies, I miss the entire five to seven edginess on those days when I am not alone looking at a door that will never open again.
After seven passes, my mood escalates. I can relax. The night is mine to own. Then I like being home, with the dogs, surrounded by the things that I call my treasures. I am no lazier now than when I was married. I sit in my big chair (a lovely antique chair that cradles me gently) and fall asleep in front of the TV. When I was married, and I'd almost forgotten this when I chastised myself for sleeping so early now, I always curled up on the big sofa after dinner and fell asleep. Only it did not seem so pitiful or lazy, since my husband was in his big chair watching the news and then his favorite shows. I could stretch and see his feet on the ottoman, the top of his head peeking over the back of the chair. Sharing the space in silence. Comfort in the early hours of the night.
Even then, I perked up closer to midnight. He would go to bed and I would start on projects. I'd work on antique pieces that needed touch-up before going to my booth at the shop or I'd pull out my paints and work on repairing a vintage painting that needed restoration. Would I do this during the day? Never. Yet at midnight, alone, husband sleeping in the back bedroom, my creative juices flowed.
What is it about the night that energizes me? I could sleep all day and stay up all night. I feel more alive alone in the dark than I do alone in the sun. (Actually, with five dogs, I am rarely alone. But that is not the point here!).
So tonight, my mind wanders as I sip coffee, to earlier times and to the present. I am full of ideas of things I need to accomplish. I make lists and e-mail them to myself so in the morning I will remember all the things I need to do when the world is awake again.
I think I'll have another cup of coffee. My mind has places to go.
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