Oh, dear friends,
The passage of time, in and of itself, is not all that remarkable; after all, it happens every day. (Saying that makes me feel like Yogi Berra, for some reason.) But there's something about being awake all night, and something else about being awake and writing all night, that makes the cycle of a day really, really neat. Our friends who went to bed hours ago are waking up and saying hi; our friends who kept company with us in our overnight hours are going to bed. Again, it's not particularly mystical, but somehow I find it so soothing, so comforting, that even the caterwauling of 1991-era Mariah Carey doesn't fill me with my regular murderous rage. In my placid new frame of mind, Mariah is free to caterwaul at will. 
45 posts down. 3 to go.