about writing and stray ideas

I used to despair of my life.
It wasn't easy, living inside my head.
For one thing, it was noisy.
There was always some pesky little idea,
longing to get out,
that kept me up at night
until finally--
usually at 2 in the morning--
I would give in,
get up,
and give voice to that idea.

Next thing I knew,
it was 4am,
and I would go back to bed,
jubilant,
but knowing that jubilance wouldn't help when the alarm rang
in less than 2 hours.

Today, things are different.
I sleep through the night,
usually,
and rarely does an idea cry for release.

Instead, I spend my nights in dreamless slumber
and wake at the alarm
go through my day
and then come home,
sit down,
and summon ideas.

They no longer annoy me into being.
Instead, they are polite and wait to be thought into existence.

You know,
I miss them.