Yet another night (and an apology to you my darlings!)

(via fffound.com)

Hi everyone, you might have noticed the large space between my posts, that’s a bit of good and a bit of bad. Time has gotten scarce if you know what I mean, and I want to apologize for all the the comments that have gone unanswered from me but I promise I’ll get to them as soon as I can. The following is a dialogue between Gale and I that I’d like to share. This had taken place late last year. I think you guys might come to love her as much as I have 😉

~*~

December 22, 2012

I’m not what could be described as an insomniac but the fact is that I can’t seem to find sleep at night. No, scratch that. I just realized the truth while writing this. I stay up at night because I find it quite easy to fight the urge to sleep, deliberately resisting and not embracing it when the opening presents itself. It’s become a habit over the years and it continues to be.

The result is that I wake up really late, before when I used to go in around 2 AM I’d wake up later at around ten (days when I don’t have school) and lately I’ve stretched my hours to 4 AM and at the latest to 8 AM but that hardly happens, thank the gods, and naturally the result is that I wake up even later. My current latest is 2 PM. Yes, it is hell when I have to go to classes (a max of 5 to 4 hours of sleep). Why don’t I go in early on those days? Simply because of my condition’s status being of a habit, but when I really put my mind to it I hit the hay early enough I do (very seldom).

Writing this now it is 1:28 AM and I will get to publishing it hours from this moment. I’m outside on one of the smaller chairs of settee with my socked feet propped up on one of those small highly portable wooden coffee tables and by back to my grandpa’s room. I can hear the distinct rattling of his little fan. I kind of reek of mosquito repellant, the socks help even though it’s rather warm, it should keep the suckers off. I’ve my father’s blue St. Martin cap on my head and I’m anxious that he’ll walk out any moment now as he’s apt to do every now and then.

Another fact: I’m not supposed to be out of my room at these hours, but it’s very convenient.

  • Because my room doesn’t have an outlet that’s compatible with my laptop’s plug
  • The loo (note: loo isn’t in the American dictionary or at least their vocabulary – Sincerely, the red squiggly line) is closer, speaking of which I’m leaving writing to visit …

Okay, I’m back … now where was I ?

  • Don’t believe this counts … it gives me a wee adrenaline spike doing something remotely close of breaking rules

I could add making an effort to kick this habit to my resolutions (I already had this for this year’s list and as you can see I let it go) but I find I like it too much to give up though I can get to hating it as much very often. Why? Because the time I spend isn’t spent constructively so that I can wake up criminally late but satisfied that I have something positive to show for it and quite frankly that doesn’t happen too often to my liking. So I end up most of the days being pissed at myself which leads to deep guilt and a sense of failure and evolves to depression and ultimately end in pledges to work on it.

Here’s what I really want to be doing:

  • Putting in time for revision, time which I don’t have available in the first place because too much of it is spent sleeping and most of it at either school or at work.
  • Reading a few pages from a non-school related book, the ones I’d rather be reading. Ha! What a big fat fail, rest of this in the next list.
  • Writing/typing down the random but simple thoughts that are surprisingly highly relatable to many people, but that choose to manifest themselves almost exclusively during these ungodly hours.
  • Just be. To let the quietness and pureness of the night flow into me, calming me. Clearing my mind of the clutter that finds itself on the main desk in my mind.

Gale interrupts … I can hear her feathers ruffle as the settles.

Gale: Devian, will you be regretting writing whatever the fluff you are writing in the morning? Will it count for anything? If not, I strongly suggest that you finish up quickly and move on to a task more, as you correctly said, constructive.

Constructive? How could she have known … unless I was reading aloud. Crikey!

Me: Five more minutes. I’ve got a while more.

Gale: I hope Tom comes out and finds you here. I’m not going to be the one caught.

I push my bangs back and reset the cap and look up at her. Perched on old Ben (my secret name for the oldest reclining couch in the house) she stared back, bright amber punctured by a piercing black pupils and restrained by the thick equally dark circles that surround her eyes, stark against her snow white feathers. Of course he wouldn’t see her, he couldn’t, because she’s a figment of my imagination who’ll look on in contented smugness if the man drags my ass in.

Me: Yeah, yeah.

(via deviantart.com)
(via deviantart.com)

I went back to typing. Actually writing what I am not is one of the blocks of the foundation I’m trying to build in hope of making good use of my only personal time.

Now here’s what I really do:

  • Read like there’s no tomorrow. This is what happens most of the time.
  • Scribble things I wouldn’t ever make into a post, but still would relieve my mind.
  • Daydream, technically. It’s night but my thoughts are wandering while I’m awake but it wouldn’t sound right to me to say night-dreaming-while-awake.

Me: Where have you been?

Gale: Mexico.

Hmmm. Monosyllabic. She doesn’t want me to pry to much then …

Me : Any reason in particular? [I oh so casually inquire]

Gale: I’ll spare you the specifics, nothing that will interest you, dear.

Okayyy.

Me: What’s it like in Mexico?

Gale: Windy and hot [with disgust] Beautiful place though, Mexico [genuinely pleased]

Me: How long were you there for?

Silence.

Me: Well?

Gale: Two months.

That made me look up again. Why would an owl who couldn’t blend in with the surroundings effectively, to say in the least, send so much time there?

Me: That’s all I’m getting out of you, isn’t it?

Gale: Si, mi quierda. Si [sleepily, and drifts off into temporary obviation]

Yes, indeed, I sigh. Oh well, at least she told me anything at all. But I still wonder what adventures an owl who doesn’t even exist could possibly have. A great many and strange ones too I expect. Anything can happen, possibilities are endless. That should scare me. The Secret Life of Gale the Owl. Has a nice ring to it, only if I could get her to talk.

Ah!

Oh, it’s nothing, I just heard a feint creak from my parents’ room. Please be asleep. Please be asleep. Please be asleep.

I should really stop now (3:27 AM) so let me end on these words:

The night is my time. Simple as that because it just is. Me time. Silent time, a brief respite in the midst of the noise of life thrumming through the day.

Gale: Get off that bloody machine this instant, Devian!

She can’t make a racket to wake the dead no matter if she tried (unless I conjure a legion of *infiri). Always a plus.

G’night/ G’morning all. A wish of a pleasant day ahead to you :)

*Infiri – animated corpses as a result of forbidden dark magic being cast upon the dead (a Harry Potter term).

P.S: My father did come out some 10 minutes after. Gale looked at me with one eye open, disappointed by the lack of ass dragging.

~*~

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