Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Secret Society

There is a secret society that meets under cover of darkness.  Not the darkness of lively jazz clubs and busy city streets, but the darkness of 3am.  There is nothing romantic about 3am.  3am could, I suppose, be considered the “wee small hours” which always sounded so romantic.  But the truth is that the romance of the wee small hours is lost if you come to them from the other side.  3am is sexy if you get there because you’ve been up since daylight and are heading to the end of the day.  3am is sexy if it arrives as a surprise after dinner and a long romantic night out or at the tail end of a creative jag.  3am is NOT sexy if it comes after a fitful few hours of sleep and is accompanied by restless anxiety and an eerily still house.  

The truth is, normally 3am would not be a problem for me.  Normally, I would just roll over and burrow into Sig Other and drift back off to sleep.  But Sig Other is out of town and Alpha Dog is too deep in her happy slumber to disturb for a quick snuggle.  And Beta Dog…  Beta Dog is ignoring me. 

This is a highly unusual occurrence.  Generally speaking, I have always found comfort in the unconditional love of dogs – mine being no exception.  It’s true that Beta Dog is unique in that his is a hard love.  He is not like other dogs.  He does not love no matter what. He is true to his breed and the love of a Weim is hard won and entirely singular.  Weims do not bond with just anyone.  They are one man (or one woman) dogs.  And I worked hard to earn the love of Beta Dog.   But once earned, I felt sure that love was a constant and that Beta Dog would remain steadfast and true in his rangy devotion.  Alas, I have come to discover that Beta Dog’s emotions run hot and cold.  And tonite, they are cold. 

Maybe it’s that Sig Other is out of town and Beta Dog feels abandoned.  Maybe its that his leg hurts – he’s been limping on and off for weeks now.  Maybe he’s just comfy on his perch and doesn’t want to move.  Or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t love me anymore.  Whatever the reason, Beta Dog is refusing to come to bed and I am thusly left to confront 3am alone – no man or beast to cuddle up to lest I force beast, against his stubborn four-legged will, to the bedroom.

And so I turn to my good friend, Apple.  Apple is always loyal, always available and always happy to spend time with me (provided I have thought to plug her in and keep her charged).  And Apple connects me to a whole world of people who are awake on the wrong side of the wee hours.  Apple and I check email, go to twitter and cruise quickly through Facebook.  And there we see evidence – time-stamped evidence of anxiety-ridden souls who are up in the middle of the dark, dark hours, reaching out to try to connect with other equally anxious, restless souls.  Bless you, internet.  And goodnite.  


Miss Whistle said...

It's a secret, so I shouldn't tell you, but I'm a member of the same society. Lily Burana has written two brilliant pieces in the NYT about insomnia and they feature similar players to yours: Facebook and a Dog. She's a fellow dogbian too.

Much (yawn) love,

Miss W xx

Anonymous said...

the poetry of insomnia. glad you made something good out of being up at 3am. and is it me or is it mostly women with this affliction?