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James Lileks might just be the best damn blogger on the whole wide Internet…

Eventually I’d fall asleep, then awake with a jolt in the old Fitzgerald Hour. (I never quite grasped the truth of his remark – “In the real dark night of the soul, it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.” Makes a bit more sense now, having gotten to know the actual three o’clock much better than before. Of course, this is not dark-night-of-the-soul stuff, for heaven’s sake. It’s almost funny: boo hoo, pamper-lad has to get a real job. Granted. That said, though, F. Scott had a point; three o’clock in the morning is an empty, useless time. I’m old friends with 2 AM; we get along, and we’ve accomplished a lot. He gets surly and weird after half an hour, so I leave his company early. One o’clock, midnight? Pals. Eleven o’clock, for me, comes like the Ghost of Christmas Present. But three? A dank and bony thing, long-shanked and silent. You begin to wonder if you really need to breathe. This could be the hour where nothing breathes. Everything just sits inert, waiting for four. Because four knows five, and five can put in a good word with six.)

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