Sleep is unexpected and delicious, limbs melting into the mattress,
melting into dreams, into the river of darkness and light. I went to
bed around 11:15, maybe, held my sleeping husband in my arms, then put
on my CPAP and happily drifted away.
About 12:15 or so, I awoke to knocking. PB at the door, apparently
without a key. I untangled myself from BB's arms and legs, from the
blankets, ran galumphing down the stairs in my nightie, but PB was
gone when I opened the door--I called and he came around from out
front and in, apologetic for forgetting his keys.
Upstairs in bed again, I am all clumsy arms and legs. The blankets
are tangled. BB wraps himself around me but feels awkward and heavy.
He's snoring raggedly in my ear. I can't get my breath. I'm hot.
The CPAP is sweaty and sticky on my face. I'm suddenly stiff and sore
again from my fall skiing earlier today. For an hour, I thrash about.
I think of things I could be doing instead of lying there doing
nothing. I get bored and restless, but I am tired. I'd rather sleep
than get up, but eventually, I can't take the restless boredom and get
up again.
The house is silent and dark. BB and PB are sleeping. And I am wide awake.
I want to eat. I consider doing negative space art. I cnsider the
books I brought back from art class that I need to view, copy and
return. I consider my poem. But the thing about being up in the
middle of the night is that I've already been up all day and I am
tired. I'd rather be sleeping.
I make this art piece on my tablet--I got the tablet for Christmas and
I think this is only the 4th or 5th picture I've made on it. Of
course, I'm not as pretty or as young as this.
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