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Wednesday, August 13, 2003
It is early morning. Waking up becomes a group effort. Or rather a persistent one. Again, the dreams are confusing. Inexplicable. However, for the first time since the early nights of being here. I slept well. But I also discovered something. It was relieving to finally have a heart to heart last night. Well, perhaps not as deep… But it surfaced many things. It was easier to fall asleep. But the other half of my sleeping difficulties lies within the placement of this bedroom. The bedroom is set far back into the house. Down the hall. To the right. Air is unable to travel this way without the aid of a second fan. The vent is too small for the AC to slide through. What little air comes through the vent. Does not reach my side of the bed. I know there are other problems with the make of this apartment. I could go on forever talking about how good energy doesn’t reach the bedroom at night because it gets caught in the cove and closet at the end of the hall. Since the door remains closed, Nothing comes in. One wakes up to hot air and stale “energy”. I realize I sound crazy. If not, then at least odd. Enough of that then. I’ve rambled enough about trivialities in this blog. I grow tired of my lack of taste and responsibility with it. Perhaps when there is something real to post, Something that means a little more than rambling of a fretful mind… I can cultivate the posts into something far better than the wretched tangent I’ve sunken into. Sumimasen. Tuesday, August 12, 2003
In a world of dark fever, There is restlessness. I remain unable to reach into the depths of true sleep. From hot to cold. Burning. Freezing. Restless, stirring legs. Tossing. Keeping the world awake. Vainly, I reach for sleep. Quietly, it slips away. Clinging. I cling to everything when I grow restless. Sheets. Pillows. Damp washcloth slipping from my forehead. Arms. Legs. Air. Nothing seems to satisfy my grip. Tension. Worry. Fear even? Overwrought Nothing seems to ease this thick cloud that grips me too tight. Whispers. Words of comfort. A hand that runs though my hair. What is this trouble? Haunted perhaps. I’m not sure. Through this all, Ryan has remained. I am grateful. But... Still, I am heavy minded. Sleep eludes me. I hope relief will not. Monday, August 11, 2003
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