What Really Happens at 3 a.m.

Hillary Clinton’s Presidential campaign famously asked the question “Who do you want answering the phone at 3 a.m.?”

I can answer the phone. I’m awake anyhow. 

When I was a kid, bedtime was my favorite time of day. And if you added a new pair of pajamas to the mix, it was pure euphoria.

So it seems particularly cruel that I should be denied the simple pleasure of being able to gently close my eyes and transition to a peaceful and restorative sleep. In fact, it hasn’t happened since September 1999.

While I can no longer wax poetic about how well rested I am or how excited I am to go to sleep, I am an authority of what really happens at 3 a.m.

First, there is the nightly stress parade that marches through my brain, featuring floats sponsored by “that annoying project at work”, “the marathon bombing” and “people who are sick or dying”. 

3 a.m. is a great time to relive the worst days of your life. It’s a fantastic time for analyzing everything stupid you’ve ever said or done, and to make a list of people you haven’t heard from in a long time because they must hate you.  It is rarely a time to count your blessings or think about how lucky you are, except for being grateful my partner does not snore.

It’s the perfect time for deep questions: Why am I still here while others are not? Will we ever find a cure for cancer? How did I ever get this old? What is my legacy going to be? Who is going to take care of me when I can’t take care of myself anymore?

But it’s an even better time for mundane questions: Why does it sound like there is a crying baby outside my bedroom window?  Why is it so damn hot in here? Why does the cable company send me messages in the middle of the night that light up the room like the sun?

At 3 a.m. there are no answers, only endless questions.

So I listen to talk radio, and wonder who all the nuts are that call at 3 a.m. until I realize they are me with a phone in their hand.

Then there is the head to toe body analyses that starts with my tongue finding a chip in my front tooth that I become obsessed with. That is, until my attention is diverted by a hangnail that I try to ignore, until I can’t any longer. I keep a nail file next to my bed because this has become normal for me, which makes me sad. 

Then at last, it happens. My eyes start to feel heavy and talk radio morphs into a lullaby as I doze off peacefully into a deep slumber.

When I awake, I feel energized, refreshed, and ready to take on the day.

Until I realize its 3:05 a.m.

Queue the parade.