My time of sense is off

The early bird gets the worm, but the night owls get mice and voles and stuff. If I have to pick, I'd rather not eat worms. It's 4 A.M., I can't call it Friday anymore, and I should be asleep. If it weren't for that whole 'dead' thing, my wife would be happily awake with me. We were both night owls, and, you know, I still am. We arranged our lives around it: we both worked a 3 P.M. to 11 P.M. job, stayed up til 4 or 5, slept until noon or 1. I don't know about healthy, wealthy or wise, but it made us happy. We usually said 'good night' around when what's really appropriate is 'good morning.'

But if one of us was still going, we both were, like Tom and Jerry. My dad once asked if we ever went to bed at different times. We looked at him with the same confusion as he had on his face when we told him we always slept at the same time. Put it this way, it was always funner to do stuff together, like being awake or not.

I don't quite know where I'm going with this blog post. But, to recap, I'm in the 4 o'clock hour, and not the one most people are familiar with. Things generally end up making less sense at this time. Or maybe they get to make less sense. It's probably why we liked this time some much. Daytime makes too much sense, it's exhausting.