restless af

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I was half-asleep and my notepad app was the only one who would listen to my inane babbling. Now, I shall proceed to get on YOUR nerves with it. lol

     THE HARVEST MOON was harvesting my brain matter; plowing the field of my mind with... The field of my mind was plowed to death with profound life questions and endless crops of fractured, over-watered self-examination. At almost every wee hour, I'd add pee to the toilet and P to the word -- so I could weep up my pillow into a silent, nightly, funky wet. Eventually, morning birdsong pierced my ears with the pain of utter exhaustion. It was time to get up for work -- and finally time to go to bed.

     Sights and sounds cooing and wooing me -- I don't recall all of this before. The sounds of a phone app pinging my incoming email; a twitter RT; an Instagram like; an Associated Press feed -- all competing with the oscillating crescendo of gang-banging warblers and peckers, hummers, trillers and actual, clawed, beaked and feathered tweeters. The whole goddamned lot of aviary and electronic shooting shots in my freshly waxed ear for hours on ever end. I have a massive headache, now. My tinnitus has has morphed from crickets to clanging and the upchuck is nigh.

     Through all the noise, I had a dream that I was changing clothes in a bank. A girl was there and they tried to send her to the looney bin for speaking in gibberish. I came to her defense and said that she is speaking in tongues because none of you bank executives seem to understand what she has been trying to explain to you regarding her account issues in plain English. She thought that gibberish may be easier for you all to digest.

     After a while, my husband got tired of hearing my semi-conscious tirade; as he was indeed, the bank executive on the ass-end of my rant. The poor man had had enough. He said I was overtired and irritable and then he demanded I stay in bed for the rest of the morning. Of course I complained, but he was right. My mind, body and soul have had enough of my shenanigans. They each want a hard reset. Not a reset from poor diet or bad exercise habits or lack of spiritual reverence -- I've go that covered. What my self is sick of is my disdain for rest and recharge; my feckless inability to sleep.

     The early afternoon is here. Finally allowing me to rise, my husband hands me a pasta bowl full of cold, cubed fruit. I pick up the pieces with my fingers and suck on the splendid, coral, slightly crunchy watermelon and smooth, green honeydew. I almost forgot that he'd also given me a dessert fork, lol. When I'm done with the glorious fruit brunch, some juice is left in the bowl that I quickly dispatch with a couple of ingenious slurps and burps.

     Waking up is not a chore -- rather it is a gift; a present of the present that gets harder to unwrap and even savor. Yet and despite all the pings, pangs and pains it can bring, I desire waking up with my faculties in place more than anything I've ever wanted. Forget water -- waking up to a new day is life.

    

 

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