No sleep again, unless you categorize it as dozing fitfully between three and five in the morning. I rose to use the restroom and thought to myself, is this some ancient curse thrust upon me? Have I committed some evil doing to cause these endless sleepless nights? The headaches from reading, constantly trying to tire myself enough to fall into that comfortable, easy dreaming state and then waking up almost in a cocoon, sheltered from the outside world, where no part of you aches, feels anything, as if just floating on clouds. I’ve had a few of those mornings and I long for them again.
I return to the bedroom, my eyes not focusing on anything except the bed. Do I really want to get into it again, try to reclaim the missed sleep? Activity and familiar sounds are becoming more frequent around me. I can only think they will increase and trying to rest during the busy mornings of others is futile. I do long for the covers, being in a fresh sheeted bed with soft light blankets, a completed dream of every person with insomnia.
The cell phone emits a devilish twist of a song, intended at the setting of it to be a comical notice of an urgent text from my friend. I reluctantly look to see it’s just a reminder of our meeting later in the day. It always seems a good idea to make these plans, but when rising from no rest the night before, my enthusiasm for the event disappears. I replied “okay” which was a poor response but all I could manage at the time.
I stumble into the kitchen to find the kettle, as if a dose of caffeine will solve my problem. I turn the burner on and hope the kettle whistles soon. I plod into the bathroom once again and look in the mirror. I reach for a cloth and vigorously scrub my face with hot water, and then splash with cold. My eyes are still refusing to cooperate fully, which is a blessing from above.
The slow insistent shrill from the teakettle calls me to make the morning tea. It’s reveille in a hot steaming cup.