Oh, this is weird.
As soon as I discover my nyctophilia tendencies and know there's a name for my love of the night, I can't stay awake at night. Or day, either. I can fall into a dream sleep sitting on the kitchen chair and looking into space. I can dream while listening to people speak. Watching television puts me totally under, in a sleep so deep my hands cramp if I move them when waking up.
I don't often cry unfair, but doggone it, this is unfair. Just when I think I've got myself figured out, I change. My guardian angel may have drawn the short straw for working overtime.
A friend recently asked what I thought would make my life better. That's like asking for a plot change in Gone with the Wind, something that would make it better. Like a color change in the rainbow. A voice change for Willie Nelson. Well, the Willie voice thing is purely subjective, but a rainbow surely can't be improved, and Gone with the Wind was a big-time winner, the best-picture Oscar in 1940 and a Pulitzer-prize winning novel for Margaret Mitchell in 1936.
I truly don't think my life could be better. Different, perhaps, but it's as good as it will get, I'm sure. Some days that's hard to accept. Still, if a person heeded one simple thought, she'd be ever so much happier. Some days you're the pigeon, some days you're the statue.
That pretty much says it all.
Then your VISA bill comes and it's not nearly as high as you feared. You call for a haircut and get in three hours later. You can actually drag that crazy recycling bin through the opening between your parked car and the stack of lockers and tables along the garage wall.
Life is looking up, even knowing there's a pendulum for every pit.
Maybe I'm on the downside of the pendulum in the night-day question. I've not quit wanting to be up late; it's just hard to manage staying awake. The worst of that is lost chat time with Linda Darland in Clarion. She's up at night a lot, too, and we play Scrabble and chat. Sometimes more chat than play, but it's all good.
And I've not been playing Scrabble at the same time as my friend Sally in the Philippines for far too long. She and her husband are, by the way, almost done repairing damage done to their home last November during Typhoon Haiyan, considered the biggest storm in history. The main storm was 350 miles away, but winds blew the roof off part of their home.
An amazing person, she doesn't rant and rave, just accepted what happened and made plans to rectify the problem.
Their home flooded with monsoons a year earlier, and they continued to work until that was cleaned up. Their ups and downs swing wildly, yet she remains a happy person, a person whose life fits her expectations.
Life will be good for people who see the good, whether it's at night or during the day.
So long friends, until the next time when we're together.
Sandy Mickelson, retired lifestyle editor of The Messenger, may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.