There is some allure to staying up past the times deemed appropriate and well into those known as “too late” when one has to be at work doing noxious things in the particularly early AM, some awful draw that convinces one that actual life takes place after all well-meaning citizens have bedded down.
There’s a feeling of superiority, a self-designated elitism that comes to one upon realization that too much caffeine has been taken to ever get to sleep now. More than a small dose of masochism laces this feeling, or perhaps it is sadism directed towards the day-time version of yourself. Here’s a chance to make that simpering shade of the real you pay. He’ll be late, barely functioning. The day will be an utter waste, and he will be even further behind. What control you have, what power over that hapless fool’s fate.
And when you finally do wake, a light taste of that feeling lingers somewhere in the gaps where your wisdom teeth used to be. For a dull moment, before the shower and shave and drive and coffee, you will remember that life of quiet and strength.