rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Reset Eighteen, Day Nineteen

Early Saturday morning I woke after only two hours of sleep, and my brain would not stop buzzing. For an hour at least it churned out thoughts and images and imbecilic fancies— all forgotten now— and would not stop. It was a storm of anxiety and sadness, and I thought I'd never get back to sleep, but I refused to get up and live the day (or some part of it) in exhaustion.

Then somehow it did quiet down, and I returned to sleep, and though I woke two or three times again the brain buzz remained in abeyance long enough for me to get a decent amount of rest. I ended up sleeping until three o'clock in the afternoon, which is not good, but at least with daylight saving time it is no wore than two o'clock would have been last week. I did almost succumb to the temptation to nap around ten o'clock in the evening, but hunger distracted me, so I ate something instead. It's lucky I delayed dinner.

Tonight is supposed to get pretty cold, in contrast with the days which grow ever warmer. The diurnal swings in temperature in spring are always a bit distressing for me. I go to sleep pleasantly warm and then wake up too hot and must throw off covers while trying not to wake up completely. I hate multitasking.

It suddenly feels like the wall of sleep is about to fall on me. I'm hitting the hay while I can still drag my carcass into the bedroom. Right after I do this:




Sunday Verse



All Days Lost Days


by Carol Ann Duffy


Living
in and out of the past,
inexplicably
so many things have died
in me.

In and out like a tide,
each tear
holds a tiny hologram.
Even this early
I am full of years.

Here are the little gravestones
where memory
stands in the wild grass,
watching the future
arrive in a line of big black cars.

All days
lost days, in and out of themselves
between dreaming
and dreaming again and half-
remembering.

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