…that is when I think of you.

With all due apologies to Chuck Berry, of course. So many things happen in the wee, wee hours. Similar to Chuck there are reveries of past loves, lost loves and future loves. When else is there time for such things and where else would it happen but in bed alone at 3am, hours before the alarm?

That’s just part of the story though and an increasingly small part. I’m not trying to write a love song so there are so many other things to think about and keep busy with. Those quiet hours would be great for sleeping too but that doesn’t always (rarely) happen so why fight it? I gave up fighting and usually just get on with the business of getting and staying fit for human consumption.

Often, by the time I leave the house for work I’ve lived an entire day. The dog has been walked. Coffee has been seen to. Dishes washed. Cat exercised. I’ve exercised. I’ve read the news, read a book and surfed the web. I’ve journaled, memoired, meditated, masturbated, shaved, shat, showered and made myself pretty. There are mornings when there’s even time for a short nap, before rolling out and around the corner to the train.

Staying sane (relatively) is a process. I wonder how the people do it who are up and running out the door and at work before the alarm stops ringing. That would be a recipe for homicide charges for me. Yet, knowing this is half the battle.

It’s just gone 8am and I’ve been up for almost five hours. I feel pretty good.