Dreaming in the Morning

I had horrific insomnia last night. At five thirty this morning, I gave up and got out of the bed. I was peevish and teeth gnashy.

Not a happy place to be.
Eventually, I got everyone out the door, on their respective journeys. The Girl to school. Mister Man off to work. I decided to try and nap. What could it hurt? Even a couple of hours was better than the grainy-eyed hiss that was my mood.

I cracked open the window to get some fresh air and a little light. I like sleeping in the light. Not bright light. Misty and sheer, hints of honey and cream light. Morning light.

I lay in the bed, drew one of my beloved fleeces over my body. Sleep stole up to my feet and nibbled. Slowly, it devoured me.

I woke up for the second time with my throat and chest aching with tears. My pillow was damp. I scrambled to my office to write everything down, all of it, before it disappeared – for some reason the notepad I keep by the side of my bed was missing.

I hope I got everything. If not, I hope I got enough that I can write it. That is a story that needs to be told. It was … I don’t know. Haunting. Lyrical. Full of meaning and chaos and rivets and tears.

“It’s life, Jim. But, not as we know it.”

I hope I got it right.

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