I miss working nights.

How Working Nights Killed My Writing

I have always been a night owl. From the time I was young, I have defaulted to staying awake late and sleeping late into the morning. In fact, after having officially converted to a day schedule about 8 months ago, I still sleep until much later in the morning than one who falls asleep around 9:30ppm probably should.

It wasn’t hard to live that way. I worked at a movie theater in high school and closed (aka got off at midnight) and maintained jobs like that through my life until officially moving to a night shift in my early 20’s at a warehouse job. Next thing I know, I’m going to night school, (I tried morning classes, but kept falling asleep during lecture) and then ended up working nights and weekends as a career.

It suits me. I’m a hermit and it’s SUPER easy to never make plans when everyone around you is a day-walker. Seriously. It’s the best excuse ever, in the history of time.

Want to hangout? Oh darn. I work weekends and you work during the week. Shucks. Maybe next time.

Long lines at the grocery store got ya down? I wouldn’t know, no one else is ever there at 3am.

Sucks to be stuck in traffic… or so I hear. I wouldn’t know. I don’t share the road with anyone else when I’m going into or leaving work.

The list goes on and on. Seriously. For days.

I never had to deal with stupid neighbors because I was never outside when they were. I rarely had to mess about with parking because my spot was always open when I got home because I would leave and get back at such odd times it was just never full. The neighbors generally worked during the day so I never had issues with noisy neighbors waking me up or keeping me awake.

I truly do miss it. My biological clock has never been more confused and my circadian rhythm is really more of a quiet discord at this point. And with any minute amount of stress, my body decides that it must stay awake.

But, for all the things I miss, if I’m being honest, I think what it really is, is that I miss the quiet.

Even though I am home during the day, presumably when most others are at work, there is so much noise during the day. Traffic, animals, wind, TV’s, construction work, yard work and on and on. It’s all so very loud.

At night, in the dark, there’s just… quiet.

I do my best writing in the quiet.

I am noticing a distinct connection between my lack of writing and my lack of inspiration; and between my lack of inspiration and the farther I get away from being up at night.

Who knew? I sure didn’t. But every time I am wide awake at 2am, such as right now, I find myself suddenly fully of things to write about. I do my best to get them out. But often, they end up sitting on my computer unedited. I do all my best work at night and find that editing, images and all those other components of blogging all seem to be done at night or not at all.

Night was my time. My quiet time. The time I reflected on my life. It was the time I whispered my secrets to the world. Somehow, those secrets feel betrayed during the day. In the blinding light, with all that noise, and nowhere to safely land.