It’s 3 am and I cannot sleep.
It’s cold and the wind is howling.
Winter came late, and it’s ruining my hopeful plant of bulbs and chasing away the sun.
I sat down at the computer to search for a random factoid. I am not one of those people who can surf the cyber vaults of info for hours without end. I need a purpose, a task, something to accomplish.
I am good at that – accomplishing a task- and when I am done, I get off the web and move onto my spreadsheets.
I have many spreadsheets.
But tonight… as I was typing in key words for a search… suddenly it wasn’t Google that was my friend… it was my keyboard.
I have missed the sound of the keys striking plastic. I have missed the feel of the depression of air beneath my fingertips as I move across the board.
I’ve missed the rhythm of writing that can come to me at 3 am when the world is quiet and my mind can play. 3am is watching time, witching time, bewitching time… it’s the time when the characters in novels are larger than life and the scary scenes are darker. It has been my inspirition time, my joyful time… and it has been my dreaded watch-the-slow-movement-of-the-clock time. Too often lately the latter.
Saying that there has been writer’s block seems so… normal… so boring… so… true.
I can excuse it and say that life has intruded on a scale even I have struggled to be able to grasp, that tasks have intruded, that business has intruded, that learning French and figuring out how to juggle yet another new life has intruded.
But those are all excuses. Luxurious problems… as my friend Olja would say.
Reality is that I have been mentally silent… wrung out and overwhelmed. Reality is that I have shied away from my friends who have been my friends longer than I can remember… Who were my friends even when I didn’t speak their language… QUERTY and VBNM… 789 and @#$.
I was afraid of what conversations we may have in the wake of the day. In the dead of the night.
Somewhere in there is Mr. T
And yet here, tonight… with cold pressing in, with Mr. T struggling to stay warm by snuggling against me, with the shutters shuddering in the howling wind, and with sleep running far ahead of me… I am reminded that they are just… friends… Humans… able to forgive, to understand, to love, to support. And that the way my fingers feel when running across the keys is the same as sitting down with a great-good friend after a long time and catching up over a glass of bubbles.
It’s easy. And it’s simple. And it’s beautiful.