I often feel my muse was born under the sign: Open All Night. She -- and it has to be a woman because only women drive me this crazy -- is quite willing to shoot my idea at three in the morning, but let it be a decent hour in the day and she's sleeping in. If I attempt to wake her, she glares at me with bloodshot eyes and throws a bottle at me.
I don't know how this happened. I've never been a night person. I like to get 14 hours a sleep a night. People have even wondered if I had sleeping sickness. Why oh why would I be charged with energy starting at midnight?
I'm told it has to do with biorhythms. Apparently I have the biorhythm of a bluesy jazz singer from a New Orleans speakeasy. I didn't use to. I don't know what happened. It probably has to do with sunspots. Or chemicals in our food. Maybe the CIA or ancient aliens, whichever of those you believe exists. I would even suspect Bigfoot, but he's such a nice guy.
So there I am. Up at night. Blearily typing. Think of me as you dream, you lucky devils.
(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)