Saturday, 19 May 2012

Oh 4am, don't go breakin' my heart...

Dear 4am,

We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.

As of this month, we’ve been working together for 2 years, and I thought we’d be getting along by now. I mean, there’s always a transition phase, and at first I loathed you with every fibre of my being. I know, I know, that’s a pretty harsh statement, but it’s one that I make knowing that you felt the same way.

Remember those times where you would attempt to force my eyelids to shut, even though there was still the rest of the shift and a drive home to get through? And how, for months on end, you insisted I endure those waves of nausea and sore stomachs?

Ah, memories.

But I thought we’d reached a point where we could work together, toiling away alongside each other, knowing that even though we would never be friends we could cope. Lord, we even had some good times!

Remember the night you introduced me to the addictive wonder that is Pinterest? And those times you gave me sudden inspiration for drawings and writings and knitting projects? Oh, how we laughed and smiled and discovered together! You provided me with a freedom that no other hour is capable of. Admittedly, my co-workers usually referred to it using words such as “nutty”, “insane”, and “hyperactive”, but seriously, what do they know? It is the lack of expectation, 4am, that makes you the mistress of all things creative and inspirational.

Then, recently, you changed. No longer did you provide me with the tolerance I needed to think outside the box. There was no longer any happy insanity, no more wonderful delusions that I was a great and hilarious writer.

Now, you sneak into my shoulder muscles, twisting and knotting them into painful blocks of cement. My jaw’s all clenchy and sore, which I’m positive is due to your intervention into my subconscious. I think up an interesting or important thought, only to have you wipe it away, leaving my brain blank and confused.

And, seriously, what’s with the whole making-my-reflection-look-crap thing? I was lookin’ kinda pretty before I left for work, dammit! Skin all smooth, hair soft and shiny, outfit relaxed but cute. The stars rarely align like that! Yet, you arrive and I wander into the Ladies’ to find a shiny, sallow-faced chick with a daggy, mismatched outfit and badly chosen hairstyle. C’mon, 4am, the bun looked great at home! I was totally working the ballerina look! And who can go wrong with a Luigi shirt? I mean, I know he’s not Mario, but he’s still pretty darn adorable.

I’m sorry. That was a tad harsh. I do realise that I owe some of my appearance woes to the fluorescent lights in the bathroom.

Darn green light.

But still. I figured that when I switched to 6am finishes that we’d be able to get along better. It shaves a whole hour off my finish time! You became a beacon of hope, guiding me to my friend 5am, who would see me through one final hour.

And it worked, momentarily.

But now you’re back to your old tricks, and I have to say, I am not enjoying them at all.

So hear my plea, 4am – bring back those sweet, sweet hours where you gave me a dose of happy insanity, and allowed me to cheerily coast through life with a song in my head and a thought in my heart. Or something like that. I, in turn, promise to be grateful for those times when you allow me to sleep through you without interruption from loud noises and arguing neighbours. I really should have said before now how much I love those snugly moments that I share with you and my doona. I may not be conscious enough to really appreciate your fine work, but reassure yourself that you are doing a brilliant job. 

I especially love the keeping-my-room-dark bit. That’s true talent.

As I bid you adieu until tomorrow, 4am, promise me that you will consider the things that I have said. I know we can be friends. Maybe not BFFs, but, you know, we could totally email each other Lolcats, and maybe meet up for coffee once in awhile.

Come know you want to...

Goodnight – nay – goodmorning, dear 4am. May this be the start of a fresh beginning, and may we have many more over-tired moments involving us laughing hysterically at those kung-fu fighting bunnies.

All my love, and say hi to your Mum for me.


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