It’s 12:45 a.m.

I should be snoring like my dogs right now, but instead, I’m wide awake—with Olivia, Amanda, Carisi, and Fin. Yep. We’re deep into solving crime all over New York City while I sit here in my robe with a half-drunk tumbler of water that I’m trying not to spill on Bean.

Y’all. When did I become my Gramma?

I swear, when I was younger, I thought it was the strangest thing that older folks didn’t sleep. My Gramma was always up at all hours—watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote, sipping in a room temperature Yuengling (yes, your read that right), folding laundry that nobody asked her to fold, and just generally vibing in the quiet of the night like she ran the place.

And now…here I am. Doing the exact same thing—minus the bevo!

I used to be the queen of crashing hard by 10:00—especially after a day of work and socializing. Now? I’m up like some unofficial member of the SVU, absolutely convinced I could help Olivia crack this case. I even talked to the screen earlier—out loud. To a character. That’s where we’re at.

I can already tell you how tomorrow’s gonna go: I’ll wake up at 6:37 a.m. like a zombie in need of caffeine and an exorcism. I’ll shuffle to the kitchen like I’ve been up working the midnight shift, because technically, I have. I just wasn’t paid for it and I didn’t wear a badge.

My body’s tired. My mind? Apparently, it’s doing jumping jacks and true crime cross-examinations.

Aging is weird, y’all. Somewhere between hot flashes and knee pain, you gain this nocturnal gift you never wanted. You start sleeping in broken shifts. You start knowing exactly what your Gramma meant when she said, “I just don’t sleep like I used to.” I used to think that was just a sweet old lady saying. Nah. It’s a prophecy.

So tonight, as I sit here with SVU running in the background and Cash snoring like a truck driver at my feet, I officially accept my badge: Night Owl, Gramma Edition. All I’m missing is a heated blanket and some Vick’s VapoRub for ambiance.

Send help. Or snacks.

Sleepless, Jani

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