Last night I received a rare (not that rare) gift: 8 hours to myself in the middle of night to do whatever I want. I usually try to do something on my nights off, or at the very least tweak my sleep schedule so that I can get to bed at a reasonable hour. But sometimes neither of those things happen, and the result is what I like to call a “Big Hatt Special” – a weird, sleepless night spent alone.
I had worked 4 nights straight, so I was really lookin’ forward to a night off. The plan was to sleep about 5 hours and then get up, go for a run, shower, nosh, go to my boy Alec Gross’ show, get drunk, and be home around 3am ready for bed. Pretty good night on paper. It started off according to plan. I went to bed around noon after I got home from work, then slept until about 5. Got up, took my girl Stella for a run, showered, and ate 2 bowls of apple sauce. I was sittin’ pretty. Then I got a call from my boi Comix sayin’ he had a fresh bag-o-stonay and was coming over to try it out. Uh-oh.
I woke up at 3am sluggish, disoriented, and very hungry. I’d been out for almost 4 hours. My apartment was pitch black and the TV was replaying those damnable HBO OnDemand ads. I swear I’ve seen that fucking commercial for Soul Men at least 100 times. The part where Bernie Mac says “What’s wrong wit’ you woman?” is permanently ingrained in my brain. I think I had once again fallen asleep whilst trying to finish Deception. Looks like I’m gonna have to give up on that one (sorry Jackman, I’ll make it up to you).
So there I was with an entire night/morning ahead of me and literally nothing on the docket. That, mine friends, is a wonderful feeling. The icing on the cake was that my roommate was gone, so I could watch the TV as loud as I wanted and use his computer at will, only to sneak it back onto his bed before he arrived home the next day. The perfect crime (he doesn’t care if I use his computer).
I started off reading, only because I knew I had to get that out of the way before I started drinking. Reading and drinking definitely do not mix. I’ve done extensive research on this, and the result is the same every time: 0% recall. After maybe an hour of this I took Stella for a walk around the hood. It was beautiful outside and there was no one around. All in all, I’d have to say 4am April-October is the best time to walk a dog. Perfect weather, perfect privacy, perfect silence. A really loud fart can be heard 2 blocks away (I assume). When I got home I busted out the computer and started dickin’ around. This is dangerous, because if you aren’t careful you can flush your whole night down the turlet. Internet surfing is just as bad as watching TV, if not worse. You gotta put a time limit on that shit.
At this point a nosh was a necessity. No frills, I just made a giant pot of spaghetti and devoured it homeless man style. It was now 6am, and I was feelin’ a little thirsty so I headed down to the corner store and picked up a six-pack of Heineken. $10. Not a terrible price actually. The place by Keggers’ crib charges like 14. Unacceptable. Fuck you, Keggers. When I was coming out of the store this guy walked by, pointed to my beer and said, “My kind of breakfast!” It was then that I realized how pathetic I must look. I was wearing pajama pants and a Nathan’s hot dog t-shirt. Kneedlez to say, I hurried home before the sun could fully rise.
This was the part of the night/morning I’d really been looking forward to. There were new epis of The Wire on demand, and since the characters in that show are always drinking it only seemed appropriate that I should do so myself. I watched two episodes while making a conscious effort not to drink my beers too fast. I knew I’d be up until at least 10 and I didn’t want to have to go back to that corner store at 8 for more beers. Even I have some shame.
I spent the last 2 hours of my solo hang blogging on the Chiefschat while watching Fellowship of the Ring. At this point I was kind of drunk. It was awesome. I could write leisurely and then look up when one of my favorite parts was on. I finished my blog post right at the end of disk 1, and decided I was finally ready to turn in. My beers were gone, my spaghetti was gone, my youth was gone. It was truly a great night.
Before I went to bed I took Stella on one last walk. It was 10:30am, an hour of the day I almost never see anymore. It was beautiful outside, and people seemed happy to be alive. I was too. Still, I couldn’t help but realize that the life I’ve chosen keeps me from ever being a part of this time of day. Am I OK with that? It ain’t no thing in the winter, but in the summer months sleeping during the day definitely has its drawbacks. I can’t help but feel like maybe I’m missing something. Then again, so are all you loser daywalkers. I mean when was the last time you got drunk by yourself at 7 in the morning?
