Witching hour

It's incredibly late, or incredibly early and there's a chance I'll regret being awake now when I have to start doing things later. But it's warm, and I'm too full of thoughts to get any rest worth the time it will take to fall asleep. I've decided that this might just be the best time or maybe the worst time, we'll see.
Late nights (or incredibly early mornings) seem to be the best time for discovering people. I think it has something to do with the stillness of the wee hours. You get a feeling way back in the corners and closets of your head that you're the only people around. And time is a slower, softer thing you can almost forget until you have to think about when the sun will circle back around and you're asked to rejoin the moving, and the doing. You look over and check the time and there's that little skip that is half the joy of acccomplishment and the rest that sick dread that gives you a preview of the heart wrenching stomach lurching feeling of how getting up the next day will feel. If you are like me you would put the clock out of your mind, pour another glass of whatever you were sipping, light up what you think is your last cigarette, and continue speculating about the wonders of the universe, or how your child's brain interpreted information, and gave you memories that make a strange collage of nonsensical scraps of kindergarten conversation and images of the rational world made bright with mysteries you've found the answers too.

So, I prefer night time for getting to know people. There is no triviality, or apology, no distractions. And if someone is awake with you, they have chosen to forgo sleep for you, and what better compliment could there be? I would like company I think, but it's nice to be alone too.

Should I apologize for being too familiar? Sometimes I feel I should. My main difficulty with people is having no real boundaries. I've been told I'm too much, so I endeavoured to restrain myself in an effort to set people at ease- resist flooding them with thoughts, attention, and affection. Even now I'm mostly failing at this, but there is no real mystery to me. I often forget where the normal lines of aquaintance and propriety are drawn. I'm not an open book, books are easily closed, and put back on shelves without much fuss, what I am would be more aptly described as a radio or an alarm clock, suddenly blaring out noise and commotion at the highest possible volume requiring a panicked rush to find the power cord and wrench the plug from the wall to being silenced.

I am sitting alone, and am very likely to say whatever the hell pops into my head just because there is nothing and no one to remind me that I have to stop at some point. But if there were someone here I wouldn't apologize. But I would worry.