Up in the depths of the night

On the sill of my office’s third-floor window sit three “teddies.” A Tiffany clock, a gift from an investment banker back in the dim corporate past, shows 3:12 AM. I’m up and, as usual, struggling with issues existential and mundane equally. A seismic shift in my work and life looms, as yet with only vaguely shaped. Right now, time to journal and stretch and let sleep return, dredging up existential light.

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