First-faint light in the east this early Thursday on California’s north coast, and at this particular moment, the skies are clear — this close to the Pacific shoreline, clouds and fog are most-likely already forming, but right now sunrise could arrive with a bright thunder.

Now about half-way through my Yerba mate, which  followed a stout cup of espresso-influenced coffee — awake now, and yet probably not much more awake as I was three hours ago, way-back-into the deep night.
Even in the retirement stage, I’m still tethered to various degrees of insomnia, and still within about the same time-frame.
Nowadays, though, since no job awaits, or really no noticeable obligation for me to seek sleep at that time, I can jump up, get away from that soulful place, where F. Scott Fitzgerald says it’s “…always three o’clock in the morning.”

(Illustration: Pablo Picasso’s ‘Self Portrait Facing Death‘ (June 30, 1972), was originally found here).

Even if it’s actually 3 o’clock in the morning.
Last July, I posted about the sleep disorder that hinders about 35 to 40 percent of Americans, and aptly titled, “Insomnious Insidious,” mainly because the problem is indeed intensely treacherous, coming at such a way-dark moment in the deepest-quiet of humanity, leading to a sense of utter frustration — hence, a chance to leap from the shackles (the bed) at 3 AM.

This description at Bustle last month also aptly applies:

Insomnia is a strange and isolating health problem — it’s tough to describe to anyone who hasn’t lived through it, and many people still think that chronic, crippling insomnia is a result of making small bad choices, like staying up too late, or drinking too much caffeine.
This reinforces the idea that insomnia is the insomniac’s fault — which is not only untrue, but can make an insomniac more anxious, and thus make their insomnia worse.

Another dreaded feedback-loop.

The illustration today is the same one I used in my original post, really captures the fright of night  — background at Biography:

Picasso created the epitome of his later work, “Self Portrait Facing Death,” using pencil and crayon, a year before his death.
The autobiographical subject, drawn with crude technique, appears as something between a human and an ape, with a green face and pink hair.
Yet the expression in his eyes, capturing a lifetime of wisdom, fear and uncertainty, is the unmistakable work of a master at the height of his powers.

Yeah, right. He’s about to die, and looks it…or maybe it’s just that freakish period before the espresso/mate hyperventilate together — hard to say.