I stayed up all night again. I keep doing that. It seems to be one part insomnia and a couple of parts bad habit and several parts sheer unadulterated terror. I don't know what I'm scared of, exactly, just that some part of my brain too far down for reason to reach is convinced the fear will pass after just one more chapter, one more episode, one more click, one more link, one more minute. I know it's not true, but I listen to it anyway.
At four-thirty I got up and saw that I'd left the living room window open all night, which probably wasn't very smart, since anyone could have scaled the wall to the second story and crawled through and stolen my books or my rocking-chair or something. No one seems to have done so, though I have yet to double-check the bathtub for murderers.
Before closing the window, I rested my elbows on the sill and leaned into the cold air and listened as dozens of invisible birds chirped and twittered in anticipation of the morning. A last lonely star, or a satellite maybe, glinted and winked just above me. It was a beautiful gift.
God is very good.