Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking and loving and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning.
So our upstairs neighbor has knocked on our door again two nights ago. We were knocking and moving furniture. It was twenty past midnight. This was the second time he’s come down to berate us.
“I know you all have your own lifestyle, but what about us, other people? We have to get up in the morning and go to work.”
It is sad that our neighbors think we don’t have to work. Or that we don’t work too seriously. I think we cannot keep smiling for no reason. People think we lead alternative lifestyles.
I always told HY why let someone know you are 🙁 when you are 🙁
I always believe in pacing. But when it comes to moving things and hammering in the night I have a feeling I am in perpetual overdrive.
There is too much to be said I can’t put into words here, also because of the death of a father I never had, this is a wretched week.
But night has set me free; we are going to pay our respects at the Parliament House to-night.
It is four minutes past one.
It is night, and I am full of words.