Sleep illudes me. I haven’t slept well, consistently, in years. It has become a labor to rest. Medicine helps a little, but even that becomes ineffective. The shadows under my eyes tell the story. But no one understands. The story is told in an ancient, forbidden language. Good night ceiling fan. I know you’ll continue to wave, but I really must be going now. Till sun-up sweet Aeolus.
Being alone with my thoughts is impossible. Everywhere and in everything there is a distraction found. Countless geese are constantly chased into the unknown.
I am weary beyond uplifting. For if so, my body would fall limp over the arms of the devoted. Yet I drag myself from bed to sink, stumble through the medicine drawer and thumb open the melatonin. I took one just before bed. I’ll have another now. I flick off the light and drag myself into the bathroom. No lights in here. I really can’t stand the light at 2:00 am. I sit on the toilet to relieve the water a had a bedtime. Flush. I drag myself back to bed. Carefully. The wife sleeps well. I am envious.
I toss and turn awaiting artificial sleep to approach. In doing so I get hot. It must be 90° outside. Hastily, I drag myself from the bed to the living room. The glow of the thermostat hurts my eyes. I can now tell that tomorrow will be a migraine day. Joy. 72° it reads. I drop it to 70° and drag myself back to bed. I get comfortable. The air hums. The melatonin hits.
“Damn it.” The wife stirs as I toss the covers off and drag myself to the toilet, again. Trip number three. No lights. Never lights at night in the toilet. Ironic. That’s how I got here in the first place. I pee. Again. Longer. Longer. How is this possible? I get cold. Now I’m shivering. My body temp has cooled to sleep state. The air is on. I’m in my underpants, well, they’re at my ankles, any. But the bathroom is cold. Flush. I drag myself back to bed and check my phone. 2:45 am.
Chest thrusts. One. Two. Three. Four. Fifteen. Twenty. Repeat set. One. Two. Three. Etc. Etc. He’s dead. Let him go. Console your mother. “Mom..” I begin to yell. She wants him back. I’ll start over. One. Two…the voice on the speakerphone cheers me on “you’re doing good Kelly. Hang in there. The ambulance is close.” I wake up. Dreaming. Sweating. Dad died a year and half ago. I lay in the bed and cry silently. Will this ever end. I was trying to avoid the dream tonight. It found me anyway.
I drag myself back to my old friend. I feel for the edge of the sink before pulling my shorts down. I don’t want to repeat Brussels. I pee a barely measurable trickle. I really didn’t need to go. But I did need to go. Frustratingly I flush. Drag myself back to bed. My spot is sopping wet. It must be close to time for work. Nope. Only 3:45 am. Whatever. Can’t sleep now. All I see is dead dad and crying mother. I drag myself to the shower. I’m up. This night is done.
The Inky Web 