It’s a betrayal to everything good that I cherish in my life.
It’s not where I want to spend a moment of my time.
Yet, he arrives each night.
Or make that morning, as he usually shows up around 3 a.m.
Sometimes, it’s 3:12.
Sometimes, he waits until 3:28.
Last night, he was particularly excited to get things going and woke me up at 2:58.
I call him “The Night Devil.”
He’s the one who pulverizes my daytime candy-coated illusion of having things all together.
Night Devil can rouse me from a peaceful sleep with a bad dream or a sudden thought that I’m falling off a cliff.
And once I’m awake, I’m all his, as he loves to toss my anxieties around the room like a frenzied toddler whipping toys out of giant toy box.
“What’s this?” He holds up an image of my upcoming trip. “Let’s stress about all that go wrong!”
“Wait, let’s get freaked out about the kids! Are they happy? How are their grades? Will they be safe while I’m gone?”
“Wee! This is fun! How about that deadline for the edits on your first novel? What made you think you could ever do this in the first place?”
“Ooh, look over here — How’s your Mom doing? What if something happens to her while you’re out of the country?”
Night Devil delights in my endless list of worries, that somehow seem manageable by day. The bright light he shines on them makes them seem even scarier in the middle of the night.
Is it just me or do you have a similar nightly visitor, Dear Reader? I have to believe Night Devil and I are not in an exclusive relationship.
What time does he show up in your bedroom?
I know from tossing and turning that my husband’s visitor shows up around 4 a.m.
I turn over and see him scanning websites on his phone.
“This is what relaxes me,” he insists, knowing I think that’s a silly way to get back to sleep.
For me, the only thing that works is playing my friend, Tricia’s, “Gratitude Alphabet Game,” going through each letter with things I’m grateful for.
“Antiques Road Show, barre exercise classes, chocolate chip cookies … .” (Hey, I didn’t claim to be exciting or sophisticated.)
Indeed, Night Devil hates the Gratitude game, finds it quite boring, and leaves me long before I get to Z.
Which of course, is ultimately what I am thankful for — returning to “zzzzzz’s.”
Whatever sleep I’m able to seize back before I need to get up at 5:14 will help me up for another day.
D is for the day so gratefully busy that I can keep my anxieties stuffed down where I prefer them.
I can ignore my unwanted visitor until he shows up again tonight. Unless, that is, you know of a way I can make him accept he’s not welcome in my bedroom ever again.
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