Writing Practice – 4/19/19

Snoring loudly over there…

It’s okay that you snore. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and tonight is no exception. I’m really worried about your brother. He’s been so depressed and down lately. Have you thought of taking him out for a guys’ night? I think it could be good for him. I’ll try to remember to tell you when you wake up.

I won’t wake up. I’d have to sleep first. I haven’t really slept in six months. Did you know? Do you notice how I am exhausted during the day? Oh, I snooze, I rest a bit. But sleep? Actual, physical, Deep sleep, the kind where you feel as if you’ve just sunk three feet deep into the comforter,the kind where you body recharges and supercharges like one of those ridiculous mad scientist lightning-bolt creations things, have you ever noticed that I haven’t had that in soo, so long?

I don’t remember when it started. Certainly before you started snoring, so I know I can’t blame you. Not that I would, of course. How can you be blamed for what your body does while unconscious? I’ve had a lot on my mind. And that’s making it so I can’t sleep.

Sometimes I will lie here and count your snores, every five minutes, or ten, or fifteen, to see how regular you are. I stare at the neon-blue bars indicating 2:20 then 2:25 then 2:30 then 2:35, and I wonder when the time ends. Not where it goes – I know it goes into the past, into the “there“, the “beyond.” But where does time end? When do we get to that last moment on the clock. We try to review, to account for it, and we for some reason also like to reset often. It’s like we don’t know how to count to more than sixty. I wonder why not.

Are you dreaming? Your cadence has decreased. Slightly. Ten minutes ago you were at seven per minute. Now it’s down to five. Does that mean you’re deep down, into the REM, into the dreams of purple walruses and flying cars, and sexual fantasies about e-girlfriends. I know they exist, it’s not a problem. Back when I dreamed, I dreamt of your ex-girlfriends, too. They were very attractive. And, again, I can’t blame you for your body’s unconscious rebellion of the conscious rules you have established.

I wish I could dream again. I would dream us on a vacation or maybe having an adventure. Perhaps we are detectives in old London, traipsing across the Bowery and into Big Ben and the Tower of London searching for clues. Maybe we are not together, but we are searching for one another. Maybe we, rather than being lovers as now, are simply friends, and each is attached to someone even more specially suited to such romanticism. Do you dream of us together? Do you run again? Do you walk? Do you relive the accident, which took your mobility and our relationship? I do.

Writing Practice 1/19/2019

Naps are best when…

Naps are best when you’re tired, but not exhausted. Tired means you can refresh with just a twenty or forty minutes of rest. Exhausted means you need hours. Naps are not appropriate for hours. They’re best in 20 or 30 minute intervals. Lay down, close eyes, rest. You may fall asleep but more likely than not you won’t get all the way down. Just into a comfortable, relaxed state. And then, you can recover some energy – you can refresh, you can just experience the day a little bit better afterwards, and you aren’t so imposed upon by your biologicals.

Naps are great for car trips. Like, when your driver has things under control, and you’ve been reading a book, and you notice it drooping down in your hands, and all of a sudden you find yourself reading the bottom paragraph of the left-hand page, and you scan back up a little and you find that you don’t quite remember the top half of that page, so you flip one page earlier and you don’t recognize that side either, nor the stuff on the page before that, but when you turn one more, There, you remember that! That’s where he said he didn’t love her anymore and that he wanted to break up, gosh, must have been kind of snoozing for like five minutes or so to read like 3 whole pages without noticing, [illegible] that [illegible] means its time for a nap, so you look at your driver, and give a little smile, and confirm that it’s okay of you nod off a few minutes, road trips always make you sleepy, and your driver says of course, and asks if you’d like the audiobook radio volume turned down just a little, and you demure, no, it’s all right, really, and you put a hand out to stop the hand that was approaching the control knob, and you lean your own reclining bucket seat back a few degrees, just like it was made to do, and you curl your legs up beneath your thighs, under the blanket you brought along, you know the one, that little blue-and-white throw that your mother-in-law got you on your birthday last year, and so then you snuggle in a little bit and feel the soothing rumble of the van on the highway and hear the monotone drone in the background as the narrator reviles your driver once more with the exploits of that mild-mannered retiree-turned-detective, and you glance quickly over your shoulder to see two children equally passed out in their own latter-row seats, similarly cocooned in their respective throws, and it is good to be making this trip, it is good to see family, it is good to get out of the house, and you’ll just close your eyes for a few minutes, and wouldn’t you know it you wake up four hours later and you’re almost there already, my how that trip went by so fast.

That’s what naps are good for.