I see the moon and the moon sees me

Another day, another attempt.

First, I think I was just lazy and didn't make time for this blog.

Then, I intentionally stopped writing.

Then, I completely forgot I had this.

Well, that needs to stop. I want to write regularly. My friend told me to force myself to write everyday on here, then look back in a month and see what seems to be my theme. I shall take his advice.

Yes, it is 3 in the morning. I don't really like sleeping at night. I don't particularly like sleeping during the day, either, especially since I'm usually working or otherwise occupied.

Sleep and I have always been enemies. One of my earliest memories is being tucked in at a reasonable hour by my parents. They would read to me, we would say my bedtime prayer, I would be all cozy in my pajamas in my humongous bed and they'd turn off the lights and shut the door until just a tiny bit of light cast itself onto my floor. It was the perfect way to unwind in the perfect atmosphere.

But I wasn't having it. As soon as I heard their grown up feet walk out of the hall that separated my room from theirs, I would climb out of bed and walk over to my window. I was about 2 or 3, but I liked looking out my window and up at the moon, contemplating what I knew of life. Mainly, these thoughts involved how much fun I had playing with my next door neighbor and wondering if he also had to be in bed at 8. I looked at how my yard looked blue-ish in the moon's light and thought of the fun I'd had playing in that yard all day. I thought about daddies and mommies and how comforting they were. Those are the thoughts I remember having at 2 and 3 when I wasn't ready for bed. Eventually, looking at the moonlit yard became tiresome and I would crawl into my big bed, cover myself with my yellow duvet and fall asleep.

It's not as easy these days. I will read my book. I will say my prayer. I will turn out the light and wiggle around in bed. And then I'm still awake. I don't really wonder what my neighbors are doing, unless I hear their shower come on. Then I wonder why they are up as late as me. I don't stare at the moon unless my dog asks me to take him outside. But the moon doesn't seem to settle things for as long as it used to. It calms my pulse while I look at it. The act of looking at it does seem to make my hair blow back and cause my breathing to slow down. When I gaze at it and wonder how many people are doing the same at that moment, I can suddenly hear the sounds of nature that I couldn't hear before and my nerves seem more alive, feeling the air around me in a way it didn't seconds ago.

But the moment my eyes leave the moon, reality comes back to me. It used to seem that the moon took whatever worries my 3-year-old self had that kept me from wanting to sleep and held onto them for the night. The moon doesn't do that anymore.

Shame on the moon.