You know, I have a couple of topics to blog about, simply from this Monday past. It being 2:36AM on the following Tuesday, though, combined with two hours of sleep on Sunday night, all that I can focus on acutely is that heady feeling of being the only person awake right now. Of course, this is not the reality; in fact, many of you are going about in the daytime now, but here and now, in this silence, these electric lights and nighttime cool, it feels as though I've managed to find something no one else has; I have stayed up and hence discovered a secret, a special time that I, singularly, have broken into.
I know I have homework pending but that doesn't seem to matter. My brain passes over various memories, those that would usually be euphoric and intense reduced to a mere glossy fascination. This is a world of casual indifference, an inability to concentrate or process thought properly (thank you, sleep deprivation), but my, does it feel good. In that vague, secretive air this moment holds.
The sounds of a house creaking, occasional passing cars, humming of fridges and the deadness of it all - it all combines to create this deafening cacophony of near silence, which only rises to unbearable heights if focused on, till it feels as though one's ears are suffocating, the target of an immense pressure, not as when lifting off in a plane but frightening for its lack of logic. But then, sense has no place here, in this lost hour.
From under heavy lids refusing to acknowledge or bow, the view is different too. There is a dreaminess about it, perhaps the brain taking longer to recognise what it sees. A surreal aspect attaches itself to every normal sight, however familiar. Everything sunken in false yellow light, deeper pools of shadows than usual, sallow and aged, but not tired. No. More... used, like old books that have seen many a turning of a page.
It is the cold that cuts through, adding a dash of reality. Slicing through everything else, it is the unwelcome visitor to this time, and yet, it provides further that sense of "topsy turvy", a more sober Wonderland, at which Alice never quite arrived. Sending chills through the body in occasional waves, lapping gently but startlingly. And always, that pervading feeling of night, that darkness that persists even with these man made lights.
Nature has a way of penetrating everything. Man-made or otherwise; everywhere. A tendril creeps in, grabs hold, its lurking presence faint but definite. Our light cannot defy the night, not truly and after all, that is the way it should be.
In this, these lost hours, I feel as though being alone is not so close to being lonely. And perhaps that is the best gift of all.