My dad was the architect of our house lighting. In the glass castle by the lake he designed recessed lighting in many places of interest. Perhaps he enjoyed creative insomnia as well.
There are minimal lights of various colors in three rooms of my house. When I am up in the night I want the obstacles to be easy to see. Cats too. They like to swarm around my feet as I’m heading to the bathroom at two in the morning. They want breakfast. “It’s not time for breakfast yet, kids.”
My kids are nearby, both probably awake. My daughter is an overnight ER nurse at the same hospital where I was born. Odd. My son enjoys pushing his electrical and mental systems with overnight sessions. I understand. It is the fallout of recovery that I’ve learned to avoid.
I taper my ecstasy. I know at 10 pm if my ascent is still in booster stage that I have three choices. 1. take something to help me sleep; 2. hope for the best and keep going; 3. add a stimulant to my system for the dark inspired night.
Many of my largest creative motions were started somewhere in the hours of silence. Even the city is quiet. The internet is faster. AI renders with less effort. My mind flows into the unlimited time. In the case of insomnia, my mind expands into the given container of time, no worry about the consequences. “Forget about the danger, think of the fun.”
Last night I slept well. My watch gives me a status report and a prediction at my “readiness for the day.” (see graphic)
