It starts with the moaning, then moves directly to groaning. The slightest noise grabs my attention. What was that? I discern the clunk over and over, making no progress as to its origin. I rest my head again, punch my pillow to get it just right. Next comes the deep sighs. All is well, go to sleep. I toss, I flip, then flop. Bedcovers get mussed and that brings on more sighs. Yes, relax, that's it, I simply need to close my eyes and rest.
The moon is too bright, casting shadows all over the room. A blood red glare reaches out of the dark corner. My feet are hot, my feet are cold. The goulish crimson beacon ticks another minute past. If I could scream without waking my husband, I would! It maybe Halloween time, but that's not what scares me. No, not a bit. It's ... it's ... INSOMNIA! eeeeeeeek!!!!!!!
It's not the insomnia that teases me to stay up late to finish a book. No, not that. It's not the insomnia that tricks me into finishing the chapter I'm working on because the words are flowing. Nope, not that either. It's not even the type of sleeplessness where ideas are dancing in my head and I just have to write them down before they're gone. Oh, how I wish it was one of those insomnias. They at least make me feel productive and creative. After a long night, I have something to show for my tiredness.
This was the I'm so tired, I could drop insomnia, yet the revved up merry-go-round in my head wouldn't land on one lucid thought for more than a moment. And then off it went surging up another thought, then another, then another, then another. Well, you get the idea.
I got out of bed, slushed down the stairs and nuked a cup of tea. No teapots, nothing so cozy as that. My stomach growled and my eyes landed on the pan of cinnamon rolls I'd made earlier that day. I ate a banana. I would not reward myself for being out of bed in the middle of the night. I read more of the Ranger's Apprentice, Book Two: The Burning Bridge, by John Flanagan. It's pretty good, evil trying to outwit the good, the characters just reaching maturity. Mr. Flanagan writes in the omnipresence - or is that omnipresent? I'm too tired to remember. He resides in Australia, writing is a second career for him after years in advertising. But even his book couldn't keep my interest long in my state of fuzziness.
I stumbled back to bed; my little preschool song floating about in my head. "All the leaves are falling down, falling down ..." to the tune of London Bridges. Bridges shot my thoughts to the castling we've been working on in Chess practice at the library. Good strategy to get a rook out of the corner and into the game. Games, and off I went on the Mario Kart Race my Teen Advisory Board and I had been playing. I couldn't stay on the road, just fell into the canyon at every turn. Canyons and cliffs, oh my, I was worrying about my son out in California driving down the coast road to Palm Springs, driving through the fogged-haze smoke from the burning mountains. Then my worry slid over to my brother-in-law who had surgery yesterday.
So, I was worried. Ta-daaa! I knew that! This was no big surprise, but the startling aspect was I guess I hadn't verbalized it enough. It had morphed into that creepy, ugly, itchy, bitchy mind twisting insomnia! I decided to take action.
I said, "God, I gotta get some sleep."
He's up all night anyway! And besides, He knows that zombie day after look isn't very attractive, Halloween or not.
Til next time ~