The Hour of the Wolf is the hour between night and dawn. It is the hour when most people die, when sleep is deepest, when nightmares are most real. It is the hour when the sleepless are haunted by their deepest fear, when ghosts and demons are most powerful.

It is also when I wake up, again and again, desperately looking for positive thoughts.
Rainbows and roses and whiskers on kittens, if you will.
It usually works, and after an hour or two, I fall asleep again and wake up feeling all better.

Today, the wolf has stuck around.
It’s repeating itself in my head, like a broken record, not stating that I’m so cool, I’m so cool, I’m so cool, but spreading a poisonous, sticky cloud of inadequacy and isolation.

I know it will pass, it always does.
As if I’ve been having night terrors, and only now waking up properly.
Until then, I entertain myself.


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