The rest of the family is sleeping and Maggie the cat is curled up on the rug here beside the sofa.
I'm so used to being up at this time of night with my son, I think my body has integrated the timing into my internal clock. I'm just finding myself awake now at 1 or 2 or 3 a.m. regardless of the circumstances. This would not be so bad were it not for his new habit of getting up at 5:30 a.m. - the clock moves too quickly.
"Maybe today he'll sleep late," I think as I write this - hope springs eternal.
I'm glad tomorrow is Saturday. I'm teaching again this fall on Saturday, but it still feels like a weekend to me.
Things are changing again. I can't say exactly what's moved, or is moving, but I feel like I do when I'm in Port Authority late at night and all the busses hum dissonantly like migratory beasts around a watering hole. I think of the many far flung destinations of those busses as I pass through the wide brightly lit corridors emptied of the hustle of the daylight hours. I feel like all the destinations of the world are open to me, even though I'm just taking the 126 bus back home.