After Midnight

Why do people like staying up late and doing things they could have easily done earlier?  I am not just talking about staying up but about that plan to stay up late, the one that begins with starting late rather than earlier?  I am a freak, I think.  I love to go to bed by midnight.  After midnight, I begin to disintegrate.  Up late last night, I found myself eating at The Pita Pit when all else was closed.  Why would The Pita Pit be open in the wee hours?  Because it is next to the Country Club College, and of course those boys and girls get hungry at three o'clock in the morning.  And so there I was ordering from a pale white girl with dead black hair and an armful of tattoos and her cohort who kept asking me questions I didn't know the answers to.

"Do you want any toppings?"

"Aren't these things kind of standard?"

She looked at me unhelpfully.  I needed help if not love.  She, I imagined, was looking forward to getting off work and going home to play video games on the internet or skype-ing with her girlfriend.

"Do you use Skype?" I asked her.  "O.K.  O.K.  Everything.  Just put it all on."

"What kind of sauce do you want?"

Holy shit.  There was a list on a big board on the wall chockfull of them.  I wanted to tell her to choose for me, but I knew she would just pee on it, and I'd already said "all of them," so I read one off the list.

I have to say, though, that she did make a hell of a sandwich.  It was big and puffed up with ingredients, and damn it was good.

I didn't get to sleep at the required hour, but when I hit the bed, I was gone.

In the morning, I opened my eyes a bit.  The room was full of light.  Good.  I'd not woken at my normal time.  I glanced at the clock.  Eight.  Not bad, but my body had that buzzing and ringing that it gets when the routine is so broken.  I wanted a longer Saturday, not a shorter one.  There is soooooo much to be done.  And I would be slow.  I remembered drinking.  I didn't want to think about it.  It would be more because there were more hours.  The cat was making noises.  She was lying on the floor next to the bed rolling around on her back, all four legs pointed to heaven.

"Hello religious cat.  You hungry?"

She was.

Since I've been home, I haven't processed any of the images I took in NYC.  That is why I've not been posting them.  I have so many to process, but not today.  The sun is shining and I am too pale.  I must go to the gym even though my back is killing me.  My shoulders are small and my belly big, and it is a trend I must reverse.  Exercise, water, sun. . . oh, and a chance to walk around in my new sunglasses.  They came in the mail and holy smokes do they make me look good.  Like Cary Grant.

I must go.  The day is slipping by.