How does it happen that I am awake and intent on writing at 12:10 in the morning? Doesn't the rest of my body know that my brain and at least 8 of my fingers are in total rebellion against sleep? In a perfect world, if the majority of your functioning parts wanted to sleep, the brain would say perkily and good-naturedly "OK then, I'll just zone out."
I know it's possible. It's a reality for some people. Like Dave, for example. He says something like, "I'm going to bed now...", he takes off his clothes, arranges his pillows and actually just sleeps after 15 or so breaths.
I know it's impossible for me. How many nights of my life have I closed my eyes, squirmed around a bit and known, without the slightest uncertainty, that The Brain is going to be re-running something that happened today or previewing a coming attraction? The white noise machine, which also has 13 other nature-driven sounds, will burble away, but after an hour, my mind will still be rambling, imaginary rashes will attack my wrists, I'll start to crave frozen yoghurt or I'll zombie-like turn on Law & Order.
The really sad part of this is that creativity obviously can sleep through the most fevered pounding at the keyboard. Fatuousness crawls out from its hiding place, spelling gets really, realy hard and nothing can convince me that I won't have an amusing post if I just keep writing.
I actually have pink lemonade flavoured frozen yoghurt, Law & Order is on TV somewhere and the battle for good and evil can wait for another day to be chronicled.