Too Quiet

It's quiet in my apartment. A little too quiet. Granted, it's 3:55 am. And I should be in bed. I just got done trying to get Kim to tell me that when my editor says he wants a story by Friday he means on Friday. By and on are two very different things. The fine line that divides them is what determines whether I get to go to bed right now - or not. My guess is not. I was gonna be all rebel about it and not send the story out until tomorrow - but I sat down for a quick second to check email and here I am...fifteen minutes later...blogging and sitting in a dark, quiet apartment. It hasn't been quiet for what seems like forever. Lately I've hopped from one house to another, talking and laughing and sometimes just listening. It's gotten to the point where I don't even recognize my own apartment anymore. But that doesn't bother me in the least. I may not stumble in until 5, 6 or 7 am... And I may only roll out of bed to run errands, or continue my visits... But I'm enjoying all the noise. If it's too quiet, I might think too much. Still - sitting here now, in this dark quiet...is somewhat comforting. As if people are not wrestling with rest itself. As if they're not worrying, crying or thinking. As if they're not being plagued with questions that don't have answers... As if everything outside my window is safely tucked in and ready for sleep.