My vow to myself is to write these things late at night, sometimes under the influence of the sleep aid in question, and see what happens.  Maybe I’ll reveal things I didn’t really want to reveal, or didn’t even know about.  Maybe I will say where the treasure is buried.  In the old days–my early 20s–I didn’t care about when I got to sleep.  I could stay up as late as I wanted and not fear what would happen to me the next day.  Instead, late nights were often spent watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show from my little loft bed; there was an MTM double-header on in New York at 2 and 2:30 AM.  I watched these shows back to back while talking to my close friend J, who also watched them from his apartment a few blocks away.  By the time 3 AM rolled around, we were both revved up and giddy, free-associating on the phone, putting on our best Rhoda-voice, our Ted-voice, our Phyllis-voice, doing anything we could to keep from having to go to sleep.  Or maybe to keep from from having to go to sleep alone.  We were on the verge of our lives then, and late at night was both sacred and a little nuts.  We watched all the low-rent TV commercials, too; in particular, I recall one for DIAL 1 800 MATTRES.  The catch-phrase was–and maybe still is–“And leave off the last S.  That’s the S for SAVINGS.”

Which makes absolutely no sense.  (Why is the S that you leave off the S for savings?   Maybe the S that you include is the one for savings, and the one you leave off is the one for, I don’t know, scurvy, saddle-sores, etc.)

At 3 AM in my twenties, I felt like I was immortal.  I didn’t need to sleep; I just needed wonderful TV, terrible commercials, and a good friend on the line.  Now I do need sleep, but once in a while, before I drop, a few unedited words.