It starts with a blast, like a 7th-grade tuba player. The door slams open. In flood the Lists, the Forgottens, the Hangnail Details. Tumbling like Bingo balls in the brain’s wire cage, rattling, spinning too fast to grab.
The bed gets too hot. All the achey body parts fight to be heard. Cats, sensing weakness, put on their high heels and walk on tender shins.
So, up. Grab the phone and drown out the din with Sudoku. Never let sleeplessness add to the chaos. Just let it in. Let it wear itself out.
Soon enough, the fuzzy drift starts. The bed, cooled off now, waits; the pillow, reshaped, whispers—delicious after starvation.
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SandySue Altered
Apr 17, 2018 @ 12:22:20
Very nice Sandy!
Apr 18, 2018 @ 09:02:24
Thanks, Dave. Adios.
Apr 17, 2018 @ 18:43:08
Stellar piece.
Apr 18, 2018 @ 09:02:00
Thanks, Jennie
Apr 18, 2018 @ 03:50:20
I know insomnia is a bitch, Sandy, but this description is fantastic! Can’t decide which I like more…the cats dancing on your shins or the cool pillow begging you to return.
Apr 18, 2018 @ 09:01:29
Several insomniacs have told me this is pretty accurate. We’re a club!
Apr 19, 2018 @ 20:57:29
Its part of the journey trough transition. Love how you recognize and accept Sandy 💛