One of the bliss of being nocturnal is listening to bossa nova in the dark while sipping a glass of southern comfort. Ah, heavenly.
Of course I can only do that when there are no deadlines hanging above. Even then, I still love working at night better than when the sun arrogantly shines. At night I can rest assured no one will bother me. No sound other than the music playing and the occasional muffled sound of mice partying up on the roof.
At night I can be alone.
A friend once told me, one of the sign of introvert-ness is being able to be alone hours on end. Well, maybe I’m an introvert afterall. No matter. Being introvert or extrovert or even pervert have nothing to do with me loving the darkness that engulfs me, caress me in velvety warmth and majestic silence.
In silence I can dream.
As the bell stroke the twelfth time, that’s when my mind soars. Above the clouds, across continents and through someone’s bathroom window. This feeling of freedom is nothing less than ecstasy. It’s like finding out that you’ve won lottery, like the first time you lose your virginity (can there be a second time?), like the third pass of mary jane from a friend.
Only trouble is, in the dark I can’t see the letters on the keyboard. That sucks.
