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Archive for the tag “sleep”

Affective

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I slept hard, I assume, because when my stuck-shut eyes finally opened, I felt like I had not moved all night.  I thought about last night’s beers… only two… and this morning’s coffee, still only a waking dream on the dingy horizon.

I miss the morning sun.

I spent a dozen years without the sunrise, unless you count seeing it come at the end of a work day, on the wrong side of an eighteen-hour shift.  Then my whole life changed, because I changed it.  Things inside me had gotten as dark as the nights I worked, and I couldn’t even tell what caused me to go from keenly introspective to irresponsibly morose in that last year of double-shifting, and falling asleep in the morning, while I wore blinders to keep out my enemy, the sun.  But even so, towards the end of that year, something inside my head told me that I needed to take a walk.  Away from the job.  Away from the life.  Away from the darkness.

I needed the morning sun.

I let the sun be my alarm clock, my thermostat, and my constant companion as I went from nightcrawler to daywalker.  It took months, but it worked.  The brightness of summer burned the long night of winter away, and eventually, for the first time in years, I felt like a human being again.

And then, it got dark again.  Not inside me, but on the outside.  When daylight backed away like the ocean at low tide.  It got dark again with the changing of the seasons from summer to fall, and with the thick morning clouds that blocked the sunrise from waking me, healing me, with each new day. 

But this time, before the darkness on the outside found its way in, I noticed.  Let’s hear it for keenly introspective, because irresponsibly morose really sucks ass.

Last night, I slept hard.  This morning, I woke up looking for the light, and I found it again.  And now that I know what I’m looking for, I’ll make sure that it finds me.

So I won’t miss the morning sun.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

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Saving Daylight

nano poblano photo 3

The clock on the wall is so loud in the dark.  Three-forty-one a.m.  Saving daylight is over.  This is the real time now.  I tried to sleep, really, I tried.  Sometime after four, I gave up and made coffee.  As the world around me slept, I drank myself awake.

Sitting up, after the coffee was in me, in my writing chair with the laptop open, the noises of the new day have leveled.  The clock isn’t banging against my ears like before.  I hear a motorcycle power down the freeway, two miles in the distance.  And through my window, the sun is making the horizon turn every color of silent grey. 

I know that, in another few hours or so, I’ll regret waking up like this, on the day when I’m supposed to reclaim an hour’s sleep from the powers that be.  But for a few minutes more, until the sky is blue and the world is made of noise again, I’ll sit, I’ll wait, and I’ll listen to whatever this morning says to me.     

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

I Dreamed

dream

I took a nap. 

I dreamed. 

Something good happened. 

I woke up. 

I wasn’t there.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Forty-Eight Beats Per Minute

pick me up

I woke up two hours before my alarm.  The TV was still on, but barely audible, and it wasn’t the thing that woke me.  There was a dream.  There is always a dream. 

I had three messages on my phone from three different people, still accustomed to my old hours.  I’m not up all night anymore.  I’m just as likely now to fall asleep watching a movie before I know I’m even sleepy, and be up before the sunrise, before my brain knows what time it really is.

The only thing that is the same in my very different life is the coffee.  Except now, that first cup, and the time it takes to consume it, is as sacred as the silence that surrounds me as I drink.  Now, the only sounds that keep company with me are the clock on the wall behind my head, my nearly silent breathing, and, if I’m truly still, the slow beating of my heart.         

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

The Monster

 

 

 

 

 

I sit to write

with coffee

at my side

and in my blood

and sleep

the monster of

my waking dreams

whispers

warm upon my neck.

 

© 2014 Bill Friday

My Vices Are Relatively Few

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My vices are relatively few…

I drink too much
but at home, and not in danger
I sleep too little
because I drink too much
And guilt
Guilt at the things I’ve done wrong
Guilt at the things I’ve not done
Guilt at the things I’ve yet to do
I’ve been forgiven for all the things I’ve done
or not done
and maybe for all the things I’ve yet to do
but one
Because she is only almost five
and must first be hurt before she can forgive

My vices are relatively few…

© 2013 Bill Friday

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