Four o'clock in the morning is an ungodly time to be awake on a Saturday, but there you have it, four AM and there I was, staring at the ceiling trying to convince myself that sleep was still somewhere on the itinerary. It wasn't, and I knew it, and the universe knew it, and we eyed one another doubtfully, strangers at a party with no-one to talk to.

I finally gave in to the inevitable and heaved myself over to the damn punch bowl to find out if the universe was single and maybe wanted to dance.

Today's persistent little theme that wants to be written about is margins; the margins of life, the margins of a book, and some nebulous connection to be found therein. I know precisely what I want to say, I can't sleep for knowing what I want to say, but I have no idea how to say it. I spent two hours sullenly pushing words back and forth across my mental plate before giving up again with a growl of frustration in the general direction of the Recalcitrant Muse.

Who beamed back, all tousled hair and bright, wide-awake eyes. Muses don't need sleep, you see. She probably spent the night out with one of those women she was eyeballing at the Labyrinth reading. 

Cheating bitch.

It's going to be one of Those Days, evidently, one of those stumble-through-it sorts of days that is mostly spent hoping nobody notices that there's even less of me there than usual. Yesterday was one of those days, too, befuddled daydreams and off-kilter stares and the Chemistry Boys covering for me in lab out of what I suspect was pity.

I am treated as something of a curiosity in Chem class, ever since my claimed quarter-of-the-class (this includes the professor) worked out that I am not by nature a Science Sort Of Person. "You're taking this as your general science?" my professor asked me the other day, and damned if she didn't sound incredulous. "Yes, ma'am, and a terrifying general science it has been," I assured her.

She laughed, but there was an edge of who-are-you to the sound. Of course, that could just be because I continue to ma'am her to death. I think sometimes the sir-and-ma'am business really freaks the professors of BCC right the hell out.

Or possibly she's still remembering the day I found out about the miracle that is Mendeleev's Law and duckling-trailed in her wake after class, wide-eyed and utterly fascinated, demanding that she explain it over and over and over again because I couldn't believe the universe was that gorgeously organized.  It makes me want to dance, does Mendeleev's Law. That's poetry, right there. It took me three days of dashing up to coworkers, seizing them by their hapless collars and yelling about it ad nauseum to get the thrill of the concept out of my system. It's not completely gone, either. I still think about it and get a little thrill of joie de vivre. 


I bet CHEMISTS aren't woken up at four o'clock in the morning by a...I don't know, chemical equation inspiration that won't let them get back to sleep again.

Or DO THEY?!

Everyone turn to stare at the two representatives of the chemically-inclined community who read this blog, now. Maybe they'll tell us if we make it awkward enough for them.

And now, there's a tiny cartoon Irishman on my shoulder yelling at me because I'm blogging instead of writing. TWO HOURS, CARTOON IRISHMAN, FOUR AM AWAKENING AND NOTHING TO SHOW FOR IT.. Get off my shoulder, there's a tiny cartoon devil you're usurping and she's getting grumpy about my recent lack of sinning.