My Daily Stream of Consciousness

... but not daily or necessarily true

My world has wronged itself

Published at 15 November 2016 12:17 PM EST in 'General'

My world has wronged itself and flipped the script. Morning has become night and night has become morning, in a world where morning is still morning and night is still night. I can not fathom a way to cope with the heaviness and weight as I stumble through the rituals of the day …

Coffee check
Lunches check
Reading check
Driving check
Kiss goodbye
Stumble home

Back to bed to make the nausea fade away, but the heaviness remains, long into the day as the rituals continue

Dishes check
Pickup check
Chauffer check
Dinner check

Bedtime, relax on the couch, ballgame, political game, recap, tired, must sleep

Up the stairs, teeth brushed, covers pulled, head to pillow, cuddle close

Tick, toc, tick, tock, woosh, eeeeh, woosh, mumble mumble, mumble, eeeeh, woosh, tick, tock, tick, tock

The quiet house eases and oozes with sleep. The dog snores below me, my love breaths beside, my little lives mumble down the hall. I try and lose myself in the quiet peace, relax to the sweet sounds of the ones I love, forget the missing weight that should sleep beside me with a gentle purr, know that his essence fills the air around, he has returned to make new life, new energy, concentrate on the sweet sounds, the soft sounds, the peace ….

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock

The minutes feed on and my brain that was sleepy short (or long) minutes ago is alert, ready, wanting … it is not anxious and brooding like other nights, it is merely alert and in need of work. I stare at the window willing it to relax, to calm, to tire ….

Tick tock tick tock

… but the switch has been flipped, night is day and day is night.

I ease myself quietly out of bed hoping not to disturb, feel my way down the hall, tripping on the things I knew I should have moved before I went to bed. Knew that they would become obstacles in my quest for quiet and escape.

I stumble to the chair and turn on just a single lamp, in hopes that my brain will not be further awakened by the light; as if that is possible. I open my book and start to read, perhaps it will tire me, make my eyes blur, ready my mind for the sleep it desperately needs, despite its insistence that is does not.

… I picked the wrong book

Minutes turn into hours, a few pages turns into ten, twenty, thirty, a hundred. I stumble for the kleenex, stifling the sobs in hopes not to wake those near by. But Len is dead and Ari is once again a wash, and the world is tumbling around me, falling apart, how can it be such a cruel and heartless world, yes I know Ari will find the treasures, but why must she suffer so. The tears trail there way down my cheeks and I stifle the sobs.

… 4am, it is almost 4am, when I pull myself out of my literary world and consider the one around me.

4am, the alarm goes off at 6:45, that’s 2 hours and 45 minutes until the daily rituals must begin again. I put the book down and extinguish the light. I traverse the obstacles and stumble back to bed, rolling close to cuddle up and let me sleep. Please God, Gods, or bedtime fairies, please bring the sleep that I need to get through the day.

… and finally the alertness fades and I float into a dark dreamless sleep that ends way too soon, and the daily rituals begin anew.

Photo: Negative Positive Digital Photo 2016

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Christine Morton -

A mother, a daughter, a magic bean grower,
a hoper, a lover, a dandelion blower.
A dreamer, a wisher, a photograph maker,
a writer, a hoper, a lesser road taker.

© 2016 Christine Morton Redhead Snaps