3:40 A.M. On A Rainy Day

One of the great joys I have in this time is to sit on the couch in the wee hours of the morning, stare out the window, and write. The house is dead quiet, as is the world, what little of it I can see. It's almost like for a few moments out of everything, I have this whole disjointed place to myself. And while I'm sure there's still pain and suffering out there, it seems far enough away for the moment to not hurt over it.

I usually waste moments like these. Locked into one of my single-minded rants on the things in this world I can't control. Tearing through dictionaries and thesauruses trying to find that perfect world to sum up some little thing about this place that burdens me. I walk out of most of these things like a prize-fighter. Adrenaline peaked as I hit those last few keys to sum up the object of my daily fury. Out of breath and a little sweaty, but a feeling of victory in this exhaustion. I've driven a spike into the collective consciousness. It's a small spike, I admit, but it's something.

And yet, on a n evening like this, where the rain is falling and the night is still, none of that seems to matter. For a few moments out of my day, the world is quiet enough to actually look at. People running around like fools, driving here and there meeting deadlines and paying bills, it gets easy to assume that everything around us is a ticking time bomb. That one day we're all going to explode in some mass implosion caused by stress and a bad diet. In times like this, that thinking isn't there. Simple peace. Like nature's deep breath. That's what this time is.

It's a deep breath for me too. The need for me to stay furious and productive isn't necessary here. I've fought as hard as I could against everything, and now the tiredness can overwhelm me. I can feel my muscles sag and my mind defuse. I welcome it. Most days I feel like I need to be prepared for anything. But not here, not now. "Your war is over son, lay it down."

I can feel the mind drift as I stare down the street and write these lines. This is when I ask the real questions. The heavy stuff that most people only discuss with their pastors or with close friends over a bag of dope. This is my time to try and figure shit out. Not sure I've made any headway with any of it, but once in a big while things sort of click. My legos match and the universe makes just a little more sense to me.

Need to be careful here and not try and force this into something meaningful. This time of night isn't meant for morals. For most people, this is right about where REM sleep is attained. The slip into dreams, following the subconscious to wherever it's whim leads it. Then there are those of us who thrive without sleep and fear dreams. Expending precious energy on lost thoughts. The world belongs to us in these wee hours. Before the birds begin their songs, we are kings. Staring upon this land and for one gleaming second, feeling like you won't drown in it all. It's as close to a dream as the likes of me ever needs to get to.

Not sure why I decided to write this. This was never meant to go anywhere, never meant to be surmised into a firm point. This is what it is, whatever it is. I guess in everything I feel compelled to say, in all the inadequacies and confusions that drive me to spill word upon moldy word, that maybe just once, I need to speak when in this state. Not so much for you folks, who have to read it, but for me I suppose. To know one day, when I'm flipping through these things, that it is possible to feel this way. That in times when I'm burned and ready to crumble, I can remember a place where I could go to fall.

Dribble, pointless dribble. Somebody stop this man before he starts thinking he's deep.