It’s amazing what you can hear at night when the house is fast asleep. The creaks, the cracks, and the little murmurs from a tiny body struck with a flu bug.
I can hear the trees bend and twist against the wind’s ferocious strength and there is a heavy branch from our evergreen that’s been repeatedly whipped against my bedroom window.
The wind chimes hanging over windows, summer’s last remnants in our yard, have been chime chime chiming and then there is the husband who is blowing the national anthem through his nostrils for his 200th encore performance.
And I can’t figure out why I can’t sleep.
Then there are tons of thoughts swarming through my mind.
The thoughts are like pages that have been ripped out of a novel and thrown into a giant fishbowl.
Sentences, paragraphs, words, all crammed into one space.
I’ll spend several minutes leafing through all of them to find a certain page; a thought.
And then sometimes, in the middle of searching, I’ll forget what page I was even looking for.
I have no idea what is happening to me. I’m angry. I’m depressed. I’m anxious. I’m so tense inside I feel like I could explode. And then there is this inexplicablly weird energy despite the fact I’ve only slept a total of 8 hours in 48 hours.
My house smells like puke and Chunky’s unmerciful farts.
And my legs are god damned hairy.
I’m slowly losing my marbles.