The time is 03:21am and I’m still awake. I’ve been trying to sleep now for the better part of 2 hours and yet, for some reason it has eluded me. So I decided to come here, to my blog of solitude, to pass the time, spew random thoughts and maybe even say something interesting. My chances aren’t looking good so far.
I used to love those nights when you couldn’t sleep. When you would toss and turn and tightly squeeze your eyes in the hopes of forcing yourself off to the land of nod. Now most people will probably think that’s weird, a universal topic for small talk has always been having a rough nights sleep.
But to me, or at least my younger self, those glorious few hours in the morning, that weird limbo when it feels like your the only person in the world, could occasionally become the best part of my day. What I would do when this situation arose was quite simple. I would write.
It could be something like this blog post. It could be a fictious diary entry. Maybe a short story about a reflection that gains sentience, deciding to venture out into the world on it’s own with nothing but a longing curiosity and someone elses face. Oddly enough, I would produce some of my best work at times like this. Whether it was a blog, diary or short story I found my creativity was always at its best at around the 3am mark. Which leads me onto today. Well, tonight.
Sad to say but I haven’t been struck by a creative muse tonight. I haven’t envisioned a grand or immersive piece of literary prose. I honestly couldn’t think of anything.
So, reader, what I decided to do instead was write this, a random bit about my former love for this hour and why. Now if you look hard enough, if you really squint, you can almost see the bitterness my current self has. The frustration that I haven’t written something more entertaining or creative.
But right now I’m lying in bed, typing on my phone wondering if I could hypnotise myself into falling asleep. The time is 03:37am. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.