Tuesday night I was eating dinner at my kitchen counter and catching up on reading e-mails. You know the ones that you know have good nuggets of information in them, but you don’t have the time to read them in the moment they arrive, so you leave them unread until you can give them your undivided attention. Like the ones from that half marathon training team coach, or that person whose take on marketing for creatives you love. Those e-mails. All 30 something* of them. (*May or may not be a gross underestimation of the actual number.)
At some point, I took a break from mindlessly chewing, looked up from my phone, and saw this outside my window:
And I thought isn’t that pretty before turning back to my bowl, back to those e-mails. Which is when this tiny voice inside my head grew big lungs and screamed STOP.
I put down the spoon, set aside the phone and watched the sun dip low behind that building. The yellow blending to orange and then ending in pink wisps. Art. Perfectly framed in the window.
There’s this weird light in the middle of the night. It’s a different dark from the just post sunset twilight, or the pre-dawn haze. There’s a depth to it that you can just sense somehow without even looking at the clock. File this under things I wish I didn’t know, but it’s true. I seem to be waking up quite a bit in what my Mom has always called the wee small hours of the night. Those little hours that stretch long, during which those thoughts that seemed mostly manageable in the light of day become large, lumbering, unwieldy giants. And once they’ve fumbled their way in, boy is it tough to evict them. Continue reading →