3 in the morning...again.

How many hours have I spent in the dark, in the silence? The pain that keeps me up is maddening, and yet it is forever with me. It is part of me. It seems it would be as wrong to hate it as it is to hate the color my hair was (when I had hair) or the color of my eyes. This pain has taught me so much that otherwise I might never have known. It is like those endless drives I made while doing stand-up. These alone hours, these times essentially within my own head, have made me who I am. Sometimes it is good to remember the thoughtless, reckless, careless child I once was, and remember that all the things I thought were attacks by this world were the sculpting hammer of the world. But, sometimes, late at night, I do wish I could say, "Am I done yet?" Of course, I might not like the answer.