For the last couple of weeks I've been going to bed early, and waking up very early in the morning. 2-3am, to be exact. What's nice about these early mornings is that the bar downstairs is closed, so there's no loud music or smoke billowing upstairs. It's illegal to smoke in bars in Illinois, but because it's a hole-in-the-wall bar, the police don't really care. It's not that we really mind it anymore, anyway.
What I do in the morning is turn of Netflix and watch a familiar movie or TV show, and either write in my notebook and sit alone with my thoughts. I know that I complain about this during the day, but for some reason, maybe because of the quiet or because I know Sara is home, I feel more relaxed and my mind isn't racing.
It seems as though during the day I feel like I should be somewhere else. Like, I'm jealous that others are able to drive to the grocery store, to work, or do anything else they desire. When I'm home during the day, I'm always trying to find my "purpose."
"Purpose" is one of the only words that comes up over and over in my therapy sessions. I believe that everyone should have a keen understanding as to why they were put on this earth and to not understand why is a bit heartbreaking.
Right now, I'm sitting, surrounded my gifted presents for Christmas. The tree is lit and the light from the tree are gleaming off the gift wrap. This sight brings back memories of me and my sisters being young and sneaking a peek at what Santa brought us at this time of night.
I remember one year in particular. Julie and I slept in the rooms closest to the tree and we both were wide awake. My parents and Jenni slept upstairs so we knew no one would hear us get up to get a glimpse at the gifts. I remember seeing a mound of gifts from the small light on the VCR that lit up the room. I was chosen to get a closer look by Julie while she stood watch by the stairs. I walked closer and closer and suddenly I felt myself slipping on one of the gifts. I fell and it made a huge CRASH, and Julie and I both RAN back to our beds, out of breath.
I got a Notre Dame Starter jacket that year. What a year it was. I probably still have that jacket somewhere! When I'm up this early during Christmas, all I can think about, and write about apparently, is how great it was to be a kid in our house. I imagine "Santa" swooping into our house and seeing the treats we left for him and how happy we made him with the little notes we wrote.
What a great writer I thought I was!