Lying in bed with the soft blue glow of an (almost) full casting itself across the gorgeous woman sleeping beside me and I can’t even enjoy it. I’ve been lying here since midnight, eyes closed, love wrapped in my arms in that soft, semitranslucent aura feeling better in my heart and mind than I have in years. But that seems to be the problem.
For the first time all the static is gone. All the nagging doubts and self recriminations are silenced, walled off out of view where they can do no harm. The horror show of my professional life is mute and my muse is free and singing so loudly that I genuinely cant sleep. Even with the droning hum of a small box fan, the refreshing breeze and that gentle light I can’t find any rest.
In three hours I’ve managed to fantasize about sex, debate politics and religion, edit the novella I’ve been writing for the last five months, started a completely new short story, wrote three articles for a photography magazine that still hasn’t officially launched yet, and two more semi-serious pieces for the other blog I keep all while refuting slanderous claims in an argument that has never happened before. All of this, every last bit of it, in my head.
And the cruelest bit of all is that, had I put pen to paper, I’d still only have gibberish in the morning with no form or direction and sleep still would have passed me by.
They call 3 o’clock The Devil’s Hour. It’s when all the imps and devils come out to play.
I think they got an early start tonight.