Three-in-the-morning zone. Too late to sleep but to early to wake-up. Nothing to do, no one to see…nothing to see, no one to do…empty time. Fill the hours, or throw them away, it doesn’t matter. Anything you do in 3AM* vanishes into the multiverse, never to be scene. Unscripted time. Improv life. Anything can happen, but nothing ever does, in 3AM. When you live in the 3AM zone, you live in between. Wherever you are, it feels like a dead, cheap hotel room, with that feeling of breathing the worlds boredom like stale nicotine of the mind. Disjointed thoughts and foggy muscles, eternity in an hour or two. Can you find inspiration, crystal bright clear and shining? No. Can you find energy, buzzing and beautiful, body afire and ready to go? No. What you find at 3AM is you. Only and always you. Closet mirrors, bits of window, reflecting the smog-and-sog brain fog pale-and-clammy broken cog beast that is you…in 3AM.
(*pronounced “thream”, to rhyme with “scream”)