There is a certain energy, an electrical under the skin buzz, that takes over when you are up all night. In the middle of the night, the wee hours, everything feels just a little different. The glow of the street lamps in a suburbon neighborhood, or the glare of a neon lit liquor store as your car cruises down a still not deserted city street, it changes the look of the world - if only for those few hours.
Struggling, or living with, insomnia makes one accustomed to the still hours between night and morning. I know, in the past, I’ve stayed up all night many times in the past - sometimes writing, sometimes negotiating with the fates for sleep, sometimes with friends, or a lover, sometimes with chemicals, and other times with just my own sleepless nature.
Nowadays it is often due to a restless mind, stresses that nag at me and spin through my head, a story I’m needing to spill out onto a page, or my son who shares my battle with sleep/insomniac-tendencies. Sometimes those hours, though, are the best to me - stolen hours where the silence helps me dig in deeper to who I am, what I think, feel, and want to create.
And thankfully there is always music and coffee to get me through the next day, after being up all night.