Night mode

I've always been a night owl. I love night time. Or the semblance of night. When I lived in the UK, it would get dark really early in the winter time. Sometimes it would be 330pm and it would be dark. I loved that. I don't get that so much in the US Midwest. Night always comes slightly later than that even in the dead of winter.

Regardless of the season, long or short, it is still night time, no? When Zoe and the husband are asleep, it is most peaceful. I get a lot of things done during this time. I plan my lessons for the private classes I give at home, I study, talk to my friends from the other side of the world, catch up on news and do whatever I want. Nobody else needs my attention in the still of the night. It's bliss. Mostly.

Lately my nights have been difficult to get through. Ironically, it is for the same reasons they were so good before. Circumstances have changed. Outlooks have changed and a friend's unexpected early death also threw a wrench in it. I needed some libation to get through the night, a little self distraction to comfort my aching soul. I am not sure why I even resorted to it because it's not something I do. But for the past few weeks I have been slovenly. I have cared little about food or much else. My usually well stocked fridge was now full of old food that had not been eaten. I made sure Zoe was fed properly and with proper fresh food, but I didn't care about what I ate, when I ate or if I ate. Sometimes I survived on a banana or two throughout the day and ate a meal at dinner that I hardly tasted nor enjoyed. Sometimes I was lucky and had company over who would make me sit down and eat something with them. And I'd have to eat something really sweet or salty to overwhelm my failing taste buds so I could stomach any food.

It's funny how a lack of appreciation of food can lead to much more. My nights were horrid. Being alone at night while the husband worked out of town during the week was getting tougher. All things being normal, it would not have been difficult. He would be asleep if he were home anyway. It would not be any lonelier or harder. The difference was this: I could make my descent into night mode and he would not be around to wake up to find me gone and he wouldn't be able to pull me out of it. So, I allowed myself to drown in my sorrows, choosing to obfuscate the sadness nightly with my gin and tonics, wine or beer.

I was barely holding it together but I knew I had to keep it together. I didn't want to look down at the abyss that was beneath me. Just keep looking up and moving forward. The thing about being a strong person is sometimes nobody stops to ask you how you are because they think you have it all under control. Even strong people are vulnerable at times, no? Anyway, I think I'm nearly out of this sinkhole now. Perhaps.