Awake. Damn it.

Imbolc                                                            Waxing Bloodroot Moon

Every once in a while.  Awake.  At 4 am.  After an hour of trying to go back to sleep, I’m still awake so I’m down here, making use of the wake time.  I’m going to write on Missing.

This means, of course, that I’ll have to pick up the sleep later in the day.  Insomnia is an infrequent problem for me, though getting to sleep is sometimes difficult.  A large part of this is a habit, developed a long time ago, of using those quiet just before sleep minutes (hour) to ponder some philosophical or political or creative idea.  Not conducive too slumber, but very ingrained at this point.

I do enjoy the night, its monastic silence and the feeling of being the only one awake, especially acute in our exurban cul de sac where lights don’t go on until 6 or 6:30.  There is, too, with a morning bout like this the opportunity to get a jump on the day, illusory as it is.

So, Good Morning.  Now to that novel.

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