Back once again for the renegade master

It’s been a good long while since I updated this blog. 

My assumption is that ~90% of readers are friends, family, friends of family, family of friends, friends of family of friends and/or disturbingly intelligent pets of family of friends of family of friends.

With that in mind, you probably already know that I recently lost my job. 

You know how it’s sometimes fun to ‘people watch’? Which, on the face of it, is a profoundly creepy pairing of words, but whatever.

I do it too. Observe, ponder, assume, as strangers walk down the street past me, blissfully unaware.

Sometimes, one of the people I watch is me. I look at the way I have acted, reacted, overreacted, and I try to understand it. 

Right now, I have fully switched into job hunt mode. I was describing this transformation to a friend, and realised that – while it is very real and very noticeable to me – I really struggle to articulate exactly what happens.

It’s not just being, you know, worried. There’s an inevitable shard of stress that makes itself felt, but I am very hire-able. I’ve been hired tons of times, by some quite big companies. I am out of work often, almost always for reasons outside my control, and almost never for long.

I am worried. I may have to pack up my life and move to another city, another country, or (probably not, but as a longshot) another continent). I have to find something quickly. Very quickly. More quickly than I’ve had to find work ever before. So yes, I am worried.

It’s more than that, though. I think the most dramatic change is in my schedule. Without the enforced rigour of a working day, I stay up as late as I like. There is an illicit thrill to be had, here. The origin is certainly more than a little childish. See, Mum? See, Dad? You can’t tell me when to go to bed any more! I can stay up all night if I like!

I think, and fervently hope, that there’s a little more to it than that. Midnight is supposed to be the witching hour, but midnight is… tame. Toothless. I think the real black magic happens at 4am.

It’s too late to be last night, but too early to be tomorrow morning. Even the faintest sound echoes wildly, bouncing off rain-slicked tarmac, silently glowering cars, frozen windows. The light has a strained quality you never see at any other time. You’re the only one in the whole world who is awake. You can do anything, and be anyone.

Or, so it feels. 

I treasure the silent sanctity of the true witching hour. I won’t be in a position to enjoy it for much longer, but that’s as it should be. 

Why isn’t there a horror movie called The Witching Hour? Hang on, I should really check Wikipedia before I-

Okay, why hasn’t anyone made a movie called The Witching Hour since 1916? Get on that, horror people.

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