For A Dreamer, Night's The Only Time Of Day a tale of yellow, sleep & friday nights

I’m not sure why late nights resonate so much with me. It’s not like I’m an insomniac or anything. Trust me, I adore sleep. I truly love it. Especially since my dreams have gotten a lot more vivid. I love them. Stepping into otherworldly fragments of my imagination, places, times and people that I may or may not know. It’s just a lovely escape sometimes. But it makes no sense that I love sleep so much, and yet I allow the early hours of the morning to steal my slumber. And then I turn up to school, looking like a corpse, eagerly anticipating an afternoon nap to continue the vicious cycle. Or, if the day allows me, I let that slumber echo into the afternoon. 12 hours sleep is my optimum. Wake up while everyone else is finishing lunch. Wasting my days, really. Although I’m still convinced life would be better if we were all nocturnal.

But I just find something so intriguing about the night. Watching the clock go from 12 to 1 to 2 to 3, and even sometimes 4. Even stupid things, like watching the amount of people on Facebook chat slowly dwindle as the night stretches onwards. It’s unhealthy. And it’s not like I’m doing anything productive, really. Mostly just listening to music, writing ramblings in a word document or fiddling with song writing. So, why not go to bed earlier ? Well, I wish it were as simple as that. But sometimes when I put my head down on my pillow at a reasonable hour, I feel very uncomfortable and restless. I feel as if I’m missing out on something. Which I’m obviously not. I mean, the most interesting things don’t exactly happen whilst everybody is tucked up in bed, and I’m wide awake, do they ?

I heard somebody once say that only the loneliest people in the world stay up late at night. That kind of scares me. I pray it isn’t true. I know it isn’t true. But just to make sure, perhaps tonight I’ll go to bed at 11 or something; first step on my path to normality.