September 9, 2001

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I love arriving at that point in the day when there is nothing else that has to be done. When all the preparations for the next day are done. When there are moments to spend doing something for the sheer pleasure of it. I think that's one of my real joys in being an owl. The rest of the night is mine.

An acquaintance of mine never could grasp that if I was up later than 11:00 p.m. it was not cause for alarm. She has a sleep problem, and assumed I did, too, no matter that I told her more than once that it was my choice.

Anyway, she commented one time too often about seeing my screen name on her instant message list late at night, and about getting e-mail from me written after midnight. Now she is blocked from seeing my screen name, and I decided it was easier not to write her after 8:00 p.m.

It must be working. She hasn't tried to cure my non-existent sleep problem in months.

Note that I don't mind people asking if I'm an owl. I mind the assumption that there's something wrong with that choice.

There really isn't.