The small hours of the night: One am, two, three. Times when I should be sleeping. How many of the small hours have I spent awake over the course of my adult life? And to what end?
Time was, I woke early (~five am) and spent a quiet hour or so in journaling and prayer before the rest of the family began their day. That was deliberate, a discipline long-gone. But to be awake in the really small hours is usually undisciplined and unplanned. Sometimes, it is a fun and productive un-discipline. I’m so engrossed in a book that I read through the night. Or I’m rehearsing each word and whiteboard stroke of tomorrow’s lecture. Or I’m envisioning in minute detail each step of the weekend shop project—every measurement, every layout mark, every saw setup, every cut.
Other times, being awake in the small hours is annoying or worse. Still wide-eyed at three am and regretting that late afternoon caffeine. Waking in dry-mouthed, heart-pounding panic over a looming family crisis.
Mostly though, my small hours wakefulness comes after a nosebleed gets me out of bed. It’s a congenital condition, in my case not serious. But it wakes me most nights, and I cannot get back to sleep right away. So I sit up awhile, until the nose has settled down and sleepiness returns. Sometimes I read. Sometimes, like right now, I write. But frequently, I must confess, I waste the time. Computer solitaire is a particular vice. Confession, they say, is good for the soul. So there. I’ve confessed.