It’s not me, it’s you. And also me. We’re not compatible.

I’m pretty sure this is war. Definitely a conflict. Struggle is sounding very appropriate.

Tiff? No. Spat? Not so much. Altercation?  That’s not quite right either. These give the impression that a resolution is possible. Not the case my friend. I’m locked in for the long-term.

This is war. It’s because of your demanding schedule and my hypothalamus. Specifically my Suprachiasmatic.  Don’t be embarrassed, that is a big word that no one should know. I had to look it up and if I’m being honest if I ever find myself in a situation that requires mentioning it again, I’ll have to look it up that time too.

I know what you’re thinking. “What are we talking about Stacy? Get to it already” and that right there is exactly the kind of ridiculousness I’m up against. It is barely 11AM and here you are expecting me to articulate like a King because you’re busy. Probably doing things and getting things done. If that is your position then you are the problem. And I am the problem. And other people who are like me. And also you, If you are like me. As well as people who are like you if you are not like me. I don’t know everything. I do not know all of the details. I do know that we have a problem and their should probably be a war.

For the longest time I thought I failed at basic life stuff. Like waking up in the morning and functioning and doing good deeds. Then I took a DNA test. I learned things. A lot of things. Like all about my genetically imposed circadian rhythm. I’m not supposed to wake up in the morning. I’m not supposed to function in your 9 to 5 structure. You all thought I was a crazy person doing spontaneous Kung Foo but really I’ve been walking face first in to your web of lies!

Think of it this way. We live in different time zones. I’m about 6 hours different from you. When you want me to be somewhere at 7Am I’m going to struggle. The event starts at 10? Sorry I had to miss it. That’s like 4am to me. Oh how the tables would turn if ever we, as a free thinking society, decided to cater to our more capable at night-ers. Then it would be me saying “You’re late again. Are you wearing pajamas? You always look angry, smile more.” and you would turn to me with fire in your eye and say “Because it is 2 in the morning and I am tired. Just pour the coffee and shut your pie hole Sharon” What’s wrong skipper? you blanched a little at the thought. Are you trying to tell me the very idea of you being somewhere bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 2AM is preposterous? ridiculous? inappropriate? unacceptable? I feel all the same feels about your precious 8AM. As I very well should.

My eye color. Your receding hairline. We don’t control those. It’s genetic. I have all the wrong chromosomes in all the right places or vice versa to make me most alert around 5pm. If all of life’s important stuff took place at 5pm I would astound you with my magnificence. You would say “She’s a real go getter with a bright future” Sadly it is not the case. As it is we’re meeting at like 9Am and instead you say things a long the lines of “Hello? Have you been drinking? Do you know where you are?”

That alternate reality in which I am a star seems unlikely so despite having proclaimed that my operating hours are between 2-10pm I’m going to have to explore my hypothalamus (that’s where the suprachiasmatic nerves are and that’s what sets my late night clock) I’m going to have to learn its ways so that I can outsmart it. I have to find a way to force myself to shine my brilliance despite the odd hours you have imposed upon me and my people so that I can help others. If this were a cartoon, I would also be battling on behalf of my good friends the owl and the bat.

Why? I’m an adult. I can just say “I gotta be me Boo” and take no questions until a more afternoonly time. Alas, it is not so simple. The children. The poor young fools. Three of my six children are cursed with the same circadian rhythm. It is for them that I seek a cure.

I wake them up for school at ungoldy times. Their unfocused eyes penetrate my soul and their unspoken question “have you lost your mind” is heard and understood. I am angry too because I should be asleep. I shove them out the door unable to say the right words, but I know. I know I must help them learn to cope in this cruel and unfair world of morning dwellers. After my nap.

 

 

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