The Witching Hour

According to folklore, midnight marks the time in the day when witches, demons and ghosts are thought to appear, and be at their most powerful. There seems to be some disagreement about which exact hour is the “witching hour” though – with stories ranging from midnight, all the way through into the early hours of the morning.

I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. I just looked at the clock, realised today had already become tomorrow, and thought “ah crap, I forgot to write in the blog again”.

It’s half past midnight.

When my middle daughter was young, she liked to know things, and liked to demonstrate her mastery of all things – no matter that she might have things the right way round, or joined together entirely correctly. On more than one occasion she asked “is it half past my bedtime yet?”

It’s half past my bedtime.

I looked at the clock a couple of hours ago and thought about going to bed early – to continue reading the book I’ve had my nose if for the last several nights. Somehow I now find myself staring 1am in the face, playing a game of chicken with it.

I’ll scrape myself out of bed in the morning. I always do.

I have two more days of work, then I’m off for a week – the first week of the Easter holidays. I had originally asked for the second week, but work schedules piled up like a train wreck, and I found myself volunteering to move my holiday. It’s not like I was going anywhere or doing anything anyway.

Anyway.

I’m writing this stream of consciousness, only too aware that I have nothing much to report. The words are leaving my fingers before they’ve really left my head. I’m not “putting them together” – they’re just happening.

Maybe that’s how the best writing happens.