5 Jul

Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange land, only without the science. Or the fiction. Difficulties with the nights. With the sleeping. The lack thereof grinds me down to little pieces, held loosely by some kind of coagulating biological glue. One tiny aftershock and there is the danger of everything shattering on the floor like stained glass pieces. It now spills over into another life. Moves slowly to the left side of the bed, and I see how she is affected. No one can sleep with me. There is no sleep here. Not even next to me. I labour through the night, not being able to breathe, not being able to dream. Invariably she leaves. I am guilty, but I cannot help it. She comes back to me in the early morning hours and tries to comfort me. And we go at it again. We try. I fall into a strange dimension of unconsciousness as she runs her fingers along the outer edge of my arm, my ribs, my side, my thigh. The line between sleep and not sleep is blurred and crossed and blurred again. Someone calls my name. But there is nothing after that. Just my name. No instructions. No word from The Castle. And I wake up. Again. Nights are torturous. It’s excruciating. Kierkegaard, Kafka, Schopenhauer, Mann. Rain. Doors opening and closing. Dawn. Guilt. Possibilities. The voice of the little one breaks through with tales of parades and fireworks.
Take a step back.
Nothing is static.
Everything is swept down or up by the whitewater.
This bubble of a city traps me and doesn’t want to let me go. We traverse it together on streetcars, subway trains, ferries, foot. I hear my name being called out again in my wake-dreams. But no instructions. No information. And I fling myself against the concrete wall like Don Quixote and his windmills. Only now there are two of us, and I take her along headfirst. I feel responsible. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t mind. The cogs grind her down, too. There are two of us.
Sleep now.
While I tiptoe out of the room and find a corner of the house where I can bite into the flesh of the lower lip and draw blood.
Sleep now.
Just sleep.


4 Responses to “Now”

  1. slyboots2 05/07/2007 at 5:31 PM #

    Perchance to dream, now there’s the rub…

    Northern latitudes don’t necessarily make sleeping easier in the summer. Those late evenings and all that light… Blame Canada.

  2. dr. zombieswan 05/07/2007 at 5:32 PM #

    I have nothing really good to say, but your word verification word is

    which seems, somehow, perfect for you.

    see, you lure me away from word verification and then put it back on your site. Fine. See if I follow you around anymore. :)

  3. Lx 05/07/2007 at 7:33 PM #

    zombie, the last two posts got spammed by some robot which doesn’t let me delete its comment; and prohibits others from commenting. so, back to the word verification trick for a few days.

  4. dr. zombieswan 05/07/2007 at 11:43 PM #

    OOOh. Well, hopefully said robot doesn’t catch me. I don’t let anonymous commenters; they have to be blogger registered, which maybe helps. WE’ll see.

    Damned spammers. Hate ’em. Seventh level of hell. Yup.

    I’m convinced, however, that all computer problems are created by computer people. In order to get us to buy things like Norton Antivirus, they make viruses. And not different computer people, either. The exact same bastards. Like the mafia, only worse.

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