Blips In Night-Morning

The clock says 3.25 am.

Outside, a brisk breeze seems to portend some later rain. There is a stillness in the air, somehow; the kind that is only noticeable at times like these, when the whole world seems to take a collective breath and all is calm. He likes it this way. He's tried to sleep, but all he seems able to do is to roll around aimlessly on the bed, his breath loud in the stillness of the room. It's as if all of the synapses in his brain are firing one after another to some unknown purpose, and it damn near is driving him crazy because for the life of him he can't figure what to make of it.

Some small part of him, however, thinks he can. It's a lot of things: the week, the upcoming holidays, the loose ends he is somehow still afraid of, inconsiderate loudmouths, that sense of emptiness that somehow seems to come stronger these days...

A lot of things. The morning will see him making the trip back up North, where he hopes the change of air and pace will help reduce the clutter in his head. He was reminded tonight of some of the things he misses the most, and that scares him, too much to mention. This fragile little spider's-web construct of a life he has going now could topple at any time, and the price of sanity is too often eternal vigilance.

He chuckles, as this thought sloshes through his brain like the remnants of a glass of gin and tonic left outside too long. It hurts too much to think of the consequences if he should slip, and the wall crumbles like so many other illusions and dreams he'd forgotten about along the way.

There's much to do, and so little time to do it with. A little rest. Peace can come later, if it comes at all.