Is the worst time. Ever. It’s the cavernous line between far too late and way too early, and neither one is lesser evil. It brings with it the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that engulfs the body in the dark, wrapping the mind in a veil of anxiety that I can never seem to shake. The red glowing digits on the clock resemble demon eyes staring back at me as I watch another minute of my life creep by slowly, only to be extinguished by the next. Painfully slow. This is when the thoughts come in magnificent waves crashing against my conscious. Their presistence is only muffled by the sound of the sheets that I move over my head as if to fend off their attack. 3:30am is too late to finish anything that’s been started (not that I finish most things I start anyway), and too early to begin anything new. 3:30am is a stalemate of everything but the overworked psyche that never ceases.