Think about the random, disconnected thoughts that occupy the gray matter of your brain, that soft underbelly in your mind which often becomes vulnerable at 3 a.m.
While midnight is commonly known as the witching hour, did you know that 3 a.m. is the most common time of death?
3 a.m. is also thought to be the time when demons and spirits rise and come to haunt. Boo !!
It was the hour my father rose to go to work. How dandy is it to have a dad, who makes candy? He had to be the first one in the candy factory to fire up the sugar boiler. Of course, this made it hard for his three kids to have conversations, listen to radio or watch television after 8 p.m.
This I attribute with my voracious appetite for reading late into the night. It was a quiet activity and who bothers someone with their head in a book? Especially if the head is hidden under the sheet with a flashlight.
Or 3 a.m. could be a love story:
Three o’clock in the morning was the hour my father escorted my mother and my maternal grandmother home from their first chaperoned date.
They sang the song to each other. Often waltzed around the kitchen. My mother could be heard humming it while folding laundry or stirring a pot. It’s the song they heard that night … the night they knew they would spent the rest of their lives together.
It’s three o’clock in the morning.
We danced the whole night through.
And daylight soon will be dawning.
Just one more Waltz with you. (Lyrics here)
It’s 3 a.m. and I wanna go to bed:
From childhood, I have been a night owl. Unable to sleep during normal hours. Incapable of surrendering to slumber, I revel in the witching hours after midnight.
To this end, I have spent most of my adult life resisting a good night’s sleep … a relaxed eight hours for my health. I read through the night, played loud music, watched a series of reruns or old black and white movies, or a string of infomercials on how to start your own “widget” business and become a millionnaire in twelve easy lessons for the unheard of low price of $299.
It’s 3 a.m. and i wanna go to bed … I got a lady runnin’ through my head … Ran out of money, looking for a night shift. Night Shift Lyrics
I spent the night impatient for the first light of dawn to wrap me in the safety of the sun. And like the anthesis of the vampire, slept like a baby as daylight tripped over my windowsill, peaceful at last.
And lastly … much of my scattered gray matter … too many of those random thoughts that refuse to leave my brain at this hour … often find their way into this venue. For example … twitter:
On another evening seventy-two hours ago, I decided I wanted to create a hashtag on twitter. Me, the gal who is tweet-challenge … bird illiterate … and totally clueless.
I asked myself … where are Brinda Berry and Laura Drake when I need them? Off creating wonderful twittering sounds of fantasy and cowboys? Certainly they would know the answer to my query.
I did a test run with four of my blog friends. And now I ask my readers … those of you who know what this social network thing of 140 characters is all about.
How can I send one tweet to all the other little birds who have haplessly followed me?
The hashtag: BrooklynWrites
The purpose: To find likened souls living in … or ex-pats of … Brooklyn … the fourth largest city in the United States. To find writers who might be interested in creating a 140 character dialogue I might have a slim chance of understanding.
What scattered thoughts occupy your brain at 3 a.m.?
Did you parents have a special song?
And please for the love of all that is sacred … how the heck
does one create a hashtag and kick it out of its nest?