It is the small hours as I write this. Not just post-timing magic… actual, small, I-should-be-sleeping hours. And I should be sleeping. I should especially be sleeping as the new work day approaches.
But I am not sleeping.
I was sleeping, all too briefly, until I awakened unsettled and restless. Now, instead, I am sprawled on the couch, laptop suitably situated on my lap, staring again at this blank canvas. It feels like there’s something to say… something on the edges of my consciousness that makes me restless in these wee small hours and has had me on the verge of unshed tears for two days.
It’s not hormones, so what is it?
No, no. I’m fine. It’s nothing. My own nonsense binding me up. Nothing that a bit more prayer and a bit more sleep won’t fix. Probably. They won’t hurt me any, though, so off I go.
Good night. Good morning.