Past Midnight

Midnight magic

Midnight has always had a special magic about it. For a long time I would fight the urge to sleep and rejoice when I made it past midnight.

Also known as the “witching hour”, myths about midnight often go hand in hand with stories of wolves howling at the moon and Cinderella’s carriage turning back into a pumpkin. But what it really is, is a time of new beginnings. When one day ends and the next begins, ringing in the new year around the world – and the fluctuation of the petrol price.

Somehow, like magic, I’ve always managed to get so much done in that short space of time between midnight and sunrise. Or so it seemed.

Midnight memories

Finding my Gran wrapping Christmas presents when I was about 5 years old. Midnight snacks with my cousins back when we called ourselves the Spice Girls. Finishing projects for school. Reading Harry Potter because I couldn’t put the book down. Cleaning my room with a toothbrush because I had an exam the next day. Procrastination. Cramming for exams. Painting my nails. Doing push-ups. Painting.

Dancing. Drinking, in places that I’m too embarrassed to name. Driving in fast cars with boys. Laughing. Crying. Getting lost. Sending out messages that I don’t remember sending. Watching the sunrise on the beach because we partied all night and never went to sleep. Making pancakes.

Eating cake. Reading blogs. Watching E! News because celebrities. Movie marathons. Watching BBC News because disaster. Reading Outliers because I couldn’t put the book down. Designing wedding invites. Icing cupcakes. Arranging flowers. Scrolling through delicious Pinterest baking ideas that I swear I WILL make one day. Star gazing. Getting itchy feet scrolling through travel pics on Instagram.

Observing my latest Typo purchase and wondering what on earth I bought it for. Learning Portuguese. Learning French. Learning Zulu.  Binge watching the last few episodes of Hannibal that I could get my hands on. Brainstorming. Thinking. Working.

Did I miss something?

Yes, sleep. I’ve missed a lot of sleep. A good night’s rest. Sleep is the best. In winter I’d rather be sleeping, than doing anything at all past midnight. Especially in winter, in a onesie, in a nice warm bed. With the Joburg traffic faintly in the distance, echoing the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Slowly nodding off to sweet dreams. Dreams of things I’ve done, things I could be doing, and things that can wait for tomorrow’s new beginnings.

 

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(Edited and republished. Originally posted on my old blog: Peaches and Pie)

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