I had always been nocturnal, tracing back to my first days at the hospital. While the other babies slept, dreaming of whatever babies dreamt on their first day of existence, I was just lying there, two beady black eyes making since of things and comforted by the darkness. When the sun came up and the babies hollered, I slept soundly while they demanded love and milk.

My dad told me this account and I’ve no reason to doubt him. Nothing from my adult life deviated from this pattern. I slept when the sun rose, I woke when the sun set. I’ve held many daytime jobs and simulated normal waking hours by keeping myself awake for 24 hours. I’d time my fatigue to coincide with early evening, waking up at 6am, but my circadian clock would eventually gravitate back to sunset, when I felt most natural waking up to see daytime disappear.

Being nocturnal hasn’t made me abnormal to most people; I see them during dinner and I’m still there as they wake up. I get most annoyed when people tell me to “just change it”. I feel like a freak; like someone with a disorder. It’s difficult for me to explain that I can’t help it and I can artificially get rid of it for a time being. I’m convinced that nocturne people are naturally this way and that we aren’t different than owls and wolves. My life would be so much easier if I weren’t — society’s created for diurnals. It’s hard to make business phone calls or go to the bank. A lot of restaurants are closed at 3am. It wrecks havoc to my dating life, unless I date another nocturnal, who are rare.

I’ve heard it’s curable. My career as a web designer doesn’t help. I tried getting clerical 9-to-5 jobs, but they pay too little. Perhaps if I were a farmer or a mailman — or even a parent — I could force a reason to “be normal”. I’d like to be diurnal for a year. It would be great to wake up as everyone else and I could take a morning jog around the neighborhood. But even then, I know it’d be a matter of time before my patterns slink back and I return to doing what I do best: Sleep like a vampire.