For the first time in my life, I had to report for jury duty recently.

Up until I was twenty-eight, I was excused on account of being a student. After that, I lucked out: on the occasions when I was sent a summons, I wound up not having to report in. But this year, the bullet I’ve been dodging for fifteen years finally hit me.

And oh, was it very nearly a doozy.

The case in question was a murder trial, and projected to run for seven weeks — from now into early December. The judge kept optimistically saying they hoped to conclude it more quickly, but given that they also projected testimony to start today and in fact were still wrestling with jury selection when that date rolled around, I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in that hope.

So yeah: on Tuesday I reported in, sat around for a while, got sent up to a courtroom, filled out a form, and went home, for two and a half hours total. Thursday I was back in the afternoon for the start of voir dire, as the judge began questioning the initial pack of potential jurors. We didn’t even get as far as the bit where the prosecuting and defending attorneys asked their questions until Friday, which was an all-day affair that saw eleven of the initial twenty-two dismissed and replaced by a new set who then had to go through the whole process again. Late this morning they finally swore in twelve seated jurors and then started on the alternates . . . and mine was the first name called.

Five minutes later, I was out the door.

Why? Because of my sleep schedule. Since I started writing full time, I’ve been free to shift to my natural schedule, which has me going to bed circa 3 a.m. and waking up at 11. I’ve been on that schedule for fifteen years now. If I want to go to sleep earlier, I have to drug myself, and then when I get up I am definitely not firing on all cylinders: if I have a morning flight and I’m trying to stay awake in the boarding area, I might have to read a paragraph several times before the words actually stick in my brain. I didn’t even have to get to the part where I was planning to say “if I were on trial for murder, I would not want someone like me for a juror” before the judge dismissed me for reasons of hardship.

I honestly expected I’d meet with more resistance than that. It is entirely possible I am diagnosable with delayed sleep phase disorder, but since I haven’t actually been diagnosed, I didn’t know how much sympathy I’d get from the judge. And if I were empaneled, I would certainly have done my best — god knows I am in other respects ideally suited to being stuck in a trial for seven weeks, because I have a life that can accommodate that kind of disruption. But a scenario where I have to sit quietly and pay attention to something, with no ability to talk or move around or be out in the sun or anything else that helps keep me alert when I’m up at a bad hour . . . yeah. I would not have felt great about my ability to pay attention to and evaluate evidence about whether the defendant murdered someone.

There’s a tiny part of me that regrets this. In the future I’ll know that I can at least attempt to claim hardship on Day One — I didn’t try because the judge didn’t list “you work a night shift” as a valid reason — but while I wasn’t super glad to spend multiple days in the courthouse listening to other prospective jurors be questioned, this was my first look at the actual process of selection and voir dire. Partly to keep myself awake, I took copious notes on procedure and what sorts of questions jurors were asked, and a part of me would have been fascinated to see a real-life murder trial (as opposed to the . . . less than accurate depictions we get from TV and movies).

But that fascination would not have been able to keep me focused for the first couple hours of testimony. And so, to the relief of all involved, I will not be spending the next seven weeks as Alternate Juror #1.