Alisha Gale lives in Irvine, CA, with her husband, two daughters, son and fetus (gender unknown and due this September). She and her husband met while earning philosophy degrees; he now practices law and she practices patience. Her most brilliant accomplishment so far this morning is accidentally pouring the wrong cereal in her bowl at breakfast.

Perhaps because my internal editor nods off before the rest of me, I am a complete genius right before I fall asleep. Every night I relish this time, actually: that somnolent stage between total consciousness and total unconsciousness when I snuggle up with my pillows and blankets and tackle everything wrong with everything.

As a sampling, in the space of one night each, I have successfully:

  1. Solved the United States’ energy problem in such a way as to also nullify the effects of global warming;
  2. Prepared for every possible parenting scenario from now until my yet un-born fourth child reaches college, choosing appropriate responses that will prove me to be the wisest, kindest, and fun-est mother ever;
  3. Written The Great American Novel (and rehearsed for my subsequent interview with Time magazine);
  4. Revamped high school curricula around the country to include a serious study of philosophy, thereby ensuring future public discourse is composed entirely of rational, enlightened discussion; and
  5. Mapped out a financial future that accounts for early retirement, generous philanthropy, unspoiled children, regular trips to Europe, and a vacation home.

The logical question, I suppose, is whether I have pursued any of these great plans. I have not, and that is because I only think of them at night, when I’m drowsy. Once I awake the next morning, I can remember the grand notion itself but the rest of the details are decidedly fuzzy (that there were never details in the first place is a possibility I have considered). Further, in the garish daytime light, the ideas are patently unworkable. For example, I have no knowledge of environmental science, and I don’t even like to write fiction (the latter is the reason I don’t have a family blog). Clearly nighttime is the only time I’m capable of any brilliance.

Perhaps the second logical question is why don’t you just write all of your ideas down at night, when you’re thinking of them? The answer is that writing them down would require getting out of bed, and why would I do that while I’m warm and cozy (and occasionally on the cusp of winning a Nobel)? I have yet to think of a way to bring writing materials to bed without annoying my husband. So I guess my real dilemma is how to type on a laptop, write in a notepad, or otherwise record my ideas without disturbing either my own or my husband’s comfort. Well, that’s not quite right. The real dilemma is that figuring out how to write at night is not quite a grand enough predicament to warrant my attention then. It seems to be a simple problem, which is the problem: I’ve got way more important quandaries to untangle right before I go to sleep.