I remember those carefree days when the early bird special was something to be laughed at, but never eaten. But today, for the first time in my life, the early bird special makes perfect sense to me. Naturally, I find this disturbing on many levels. But first, let me back up a second here and explain how I’ve come to my newest conclusion about the worth of the early bird.

Since I’ve started my new job, I work much longer hours than was formerly habitual. This means that these days, we finish dinner close to 9 and we get ready for bed soon after that. Sometimes we even bring dessert to bed, which is a really terrible idea. If you’re lying in bed, this should signal that you don’t need anymore fueling up for the day and you need to retire the moon pie for when you really need it, although I’m not sure when that would be. But I know it’s definitely not when you’re getting ready to go to sleep.

This reminds me of a story that I heard years ago about Jack Nicholson. Apparently, he would bring peanut butter sandwiches to bed to fuel his lovemaking. Sorry for forcing that visual upon you, but I shouldn’t be the only one to suffer. Okay, tangent over.

The last several nights, my body has decided that this whole late night full-on dinner routine does not suit us. Not one bit. And my surly body, blessed with the attitude of a ‘tween, is letting its feelings be known by disrupting my sleep so that I can experience a tummy full of last night’s dinner in the wee hours of the morning. This, as you can guess, is not my favorite pastime.

This morning, I was sick of lying there by 5 a.m., although I tried some more with feeling until about 5:15 when I realized that there were better things I could do with my time than lie there and feel bitter about my lot in life as an insomniac. So I got up, threw on ye olde gym clothes and grabbed “In Defense of Food” (yes, bloggergirl, it IS awesome) and then I did an hour on the elliptical while I read my book and digested some chicken.

As I was getting ready for work, I realized that my fooded-up-fouled-up system wasn’t even ready for breakfast after my hour of cardio, and so I threw my packet of oatmeal in my bag so I could eat it at work. I had to pass on the chicken sausages, since they require a skillet and stove for preparation, instead opting for a frozen soy ‘sausage’ patty.

When I got to work, I nuked my oatmeal and sausage and sat down to breakfast. I tried to stir the oatmeal, which resembled a vat of glue. I took a bite of the ‘sausage’ and cringed at a taste that resembled nothing out of nature. When I’m at home, I boil water in my electric kettle and then pour it over my oatmeal, which results in all-natural, oaty tasting goodness. But the nuking turned my darling oatmeal into a gelatinous, bland paste. And don’t get me started on this ‘sausage’ crap. I’ve had some that taste good, and these, my friend, these are not those.

So not only did my dinner ruin my night’s sleep, it even went so far as to ruin my breakfast. This morning, I’ve been trying to figure out how to solve the problem. Since going for the early bird special isn’t possible, I will instead have to concentrate on eating a mini-dinner. I’ll have to do a little experimenting to see if I’ll need to have a bigger lunch or not to make up for it.

I’ll also have to come to terms with why I find this all so disturbing: 1) I’ll need to learn how to enjoy eating a lot less at night, which is a (formerly) beloved diversion from all my cares and worries. 2) Dinner is my favorite meal. You can cook and eat wonderful things. Lunch kind of sucks, as it usually involves a freezer and a microwave. And 3) this whole eating late / sleep disturbance thing means I’m officially, um, not getting any younger.