Things that go bump in the night
Things that go bump in the night don’t scare me, because it is most assuredly my little night owl up and about on some nocturnal mission of great importance to his five-year-old brain.
We all know that there are night people and day people. Rio is one of the former, as is his mother. She doesn’t even send off brain waves until 8 p.m.
When I was younger, my Mother, her mind ever active, use to speculate on why there were day people and night people. At first she postulated that maybe the night people were descendants of night watchmen who genetically altered after generations of duty on the city walls keeping watch over the slumbering inhabitants. After reading Von Danikin’s Chariots of the Gods in the late 60’s she thought maybe we were a mix of local apes and alien visitors who lost all sense of time after generations of interstellar travel with no sun, only endless night.
I use to be a night person too, before the necessities of life ruined me. In my late teens and early 20s I was a freelance photographer by day to feed the soul and a security guard by night to feed the body.
So Rio comes to life about 10pm. Well, actually, he’s a live wire from the minute he wakes up around noon until I am ready to kill him at 2 a.m. But, it is amazing to see the surge of pure energy that hits a couple of hours after the sun sets. Poor thing, he goes to school this fall. He’ll have to adapt his natural, genetic, God-given patterns to our society. My poor little alien night watchman.
Another thing that goes bump in the night, is, apparently, my liver. ParaPump discovered this. Maddingly, at different times between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. I’m getting huge surges of sugar. Not the kind of adrenaline rush you’d expect from a nightmare about being eaten by lions, either. I’m talking about serious long-term production. Looking at my Carelink charts I find my self slow and steady at 114 or so post prandially for hours after dinner. When the rise kicks in it jets me up, up, up, up, up to the 180s or 190s just before my alarm forces my night-person self into modern reality. Yeah, six a.m., an hour not even fit for birds.
I keep throwing basal adjustments on the fire, but I haven’t mastered it yet. In fact, I can not yet convince myself I’ve done any good at all. Yet, that is. I down-load the ParaPump every week. Sit down with my coffee, the sensor overlay charts, and my food log and stare into my crystal ball and always ask the same question: What the f---- happened this week?