As I write these words, it’s 4:37 am. Again.

Sure, 4:37 comes twice a day every day, but I’ve been making quite a chum out of this particular time of day lately. We’ve been having a lot of dates recently, going hot and heavy. Sometimes I think maybe I’m not going to see 4:37, but then there he is. He can’t live without me.

I’m not an insomniac anymore. When I was a little kid, I saw a great deal of 4:37, but that was because I had bad dreams, or would stay awake all night practicing speeches I wanted to give to various people but never would. In high school, I barely slept at all because I was so busy and life was so interesting. In college, if I saw 4:37, it was usually because I had a term paper due in the morning.

It turns out that the month before you turn in a dissertation is kind of like having a term paper due every single day, except now you’re too old to be awake 20 hours of every day. A few years ago, I realized it had been a very long time since I pulled an all-nighter, and I wondered if it were even possible. All-nighter? Me? Pff. I’m an old woman now for a reason: I sleep like a champ.

This month I’ve been up past 9 am six different times. I really hit my stride as a writer around midnight, and I go hard at it for three or four hours. Then I dick around a bit and flirt with the idea of sleeping before realizing I still have way too much shit to do. The hours between 4 am and 8 am are totally brutal.

The good news is that I wrote a book, and I think it’s not a bad book at all. I showed it to some people and they kind of liked it, even some of the parts I am sick of. I’ve got basically one more night after tonight to finish it before I give it to my committee for whatever they decide to do to it.

I hope it’s my last time going to sleep at 9 am for a long time.