It's been a good thing so far, mostly, but it does mean that when I'm awake at three in the morning I have to find other things to do, which means that you, my readers, must suffer more long and rambling three-in-the-morning posts. I apologize for the imposition.
Today was a good day. So was yesterday, and so was the day before. There have been so many good days recently that I begin to worry I won't know what to do with a bad one when it eventually comes along.
But then there are the three o' clock nights to keep me humble.
A little less than a year ago I wrote this post. It's incredible how much has changed since then, really. I have a job I love, teaching online classes to nerdy homeschoolers. I have a beautiful black marshmallow cat whose favorite thing in the world is to jump up on my lap whenever I sit down, curl up with her nose in the crook of my arm, and purr. The classics degree is still a distant dream, but my flat is cleaner than it's been in months, and now there's a guy. I won't say more about that just now--only that I feel and am so very, very blessed, these days.
But there are still the three o' clock nights.
Dragons don't really go away.
I'm not being pessimistic, I'm not being cynical. If there were no dragons there would be no excitement, no honor, no thrill of danger and no glory of conquest. I wouldn't really know the good days if there were no bad ones; I wouldn't cherish the nights full of sleep if it weren't for this three o' clock.
I want my dragons. I want my three o' clock nights. I want the hours of darkness, because they let me see, from my gutter, the stars.
Gethsemane, the most beautiful place in the world, is all around us. This is my hour to watch.