We Are Midnight

I stay up later than I should. I pay for it incrementally every morning, a grumpy groggy shell for at least a couple of hours. Why do I do this?

It's not because I'm not tired. In fact, I'm usually mentally exhausted by 11:00 pm. I've never had any trouble falling asleep at night, not since 7-year-old Michael gave up his nightlight. I have the most comfortable bed in the world, and when I finally lay my head down, I'm out in 15 minutes max. It's usually a lot less.

I think the reason I stay up is because I know that I've failed to make the most of the past day. Maybe staying up is a desperate attempt to squeeze one last little bit of meaning, fulfillment, or happiness out of this, one of my tragically few days on earth. Maybe if I stay up just a little bit longer, someone will text me or facebook me. Maybe I'll stumble on a picture that makes me laugh. Maybe I'll read a reddit post that makes me think, or consider something I've never considered before. Maybe an old friend will show up at my door, and I'll be whisked away from this lonely room on a midnight adventure.

I don't hate my life like I did once. It's probably never been better. But late at night, when my thoughts start to wander, all I see is a life that revolves around forcibly stuffing my brain with things I don't really care about.

Is this the way of the world?

"We are midnight, on a fast ride

Held a ticket in our hands for anywhere
Out of our minds, thought we could fly
As the morning comes we start to disappear."