Odd-Time Rains

Last night, I suddenly woke up to the thought, “Oh! I did forget that to-do yesterday.”
I checked the time, 2:38 a.m. Neither could I squeeze back inside my blanket, nor did I have the energy to get up. My brain, however, decided to wake up. In no time, I was in front of my computer screen.

The work that had caused this midnight guilt trip was done in less than twenty minutes. And then, I didn’t know what to do. So, I watched out my window. It was drizzling—soft, slow, and so soothing to watch. I studied for a while but ended up in daydreams (or maybe night dreams?). I even felt hungry but was too calorie-conscious to gobble anything. I finally dozed off around 4-ish, feeling mildly proud and mostly pitying myself for ruining my sleep cycle… again.

It felt oddly satisfying to be the only one awake in the house. The night was quiet, calm, and slightly chilly. The drizzle outside and the glow of my screen created a strange sense of peace. At 3 a.m., everything feels gentler, even your worries wear a muffler. My to-do list, which looked monstrous the evening before, now looked less scary under that faint blue light. Isn’t it funny how we suddenly feel super productive at the worst possible times? 3 a.m., the hour of questionable life choices and unexpected motivation.

Now that I’m sitting by my window again this morning, sipping coffee and watching the world wake up fresh, my mind keeps replaying that scene. Waking up in the middle of the night might have felt like an odd-time rain to my brain. Odd-time rains are exciting, soothing, and sometimes a bit inconvenient, just like those random 3 a.m. awakenings. They arrive without warning and leave behind either calm, chaos, or strange inspiration. Maybe some things, like rain or clarity arrive when they wish to. And that’s okay. You don’t always have to fix everything immediately. Sometimes it’s enough to simply sit, listen to the drizzle, and let your thoughts wander.

Honestly, I think my brain and my blanket have some unresolved issues. Every night, the moment I try to sleep, I somehow don’t find the right side of my blanket. One minute it’s too short, the next it’s inside out, and meanwhile my brain’s sitting there, clearly frustrated, whispering, “Plot twist! Let’s overthink everything you’ve ever done!” The blanket gives up halfway through, slides off the bed dramatically, and I just stare into the darkness wondering if this is adulthood or a badly written comedy. Anyway, if you’re awake reading this at an ungodly hour, consider this your sign to stop scrolling, blame the universe for your genius, and at least pretend to sleep. We’ll deal with our thoughts, rains and our rebellious blankets tomorrow.