3 a.m.

I will find myself tossing, one side, then the other side, this position and then another, drifting off, dozing, only to jerk awake with a sharp intake of breath at some shapeless dreaming anxiety. who knows what parts it's due to, thirsty, having to pee, distracted by a change in the weather, blinds slapping against open windowframes– but eventually I will quit fighting it, wake up, rise, wander the mostly-dark apartment aimlessly, picking up small things here and there, a glass, a plate moved from table to sink, stand staring in a doorway, wrap myself in a throw blanket and sink down on the couch, lie gazing up at moving shadows of tree branches cast across the wall by streetlights, listen to the base thump of a passing car or some random walker's laughter in the night… I think, ultimately, it has to do with the acute sense of life passing, simply and inevitably, right this instant, then this one, and the next, each and every and all of them leafing away and sinking without trace into the well of time– and the overwhelming urge, desperation really, to do something, whatever, meaningful, resonant, actual, I don't know, just something that makes sense, that serves to tie those passing instants together, to weave them into a thread, wind that towline, and gradually drag myself back up from the vanished depths.

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