Another night of insomnia, but I am holding onto the knowledge that this phase will pass soon. That I will be able to sleep again. Meanwhile, the finches and tits are singing in the garden, and the sky is already beginning to blue when I let Leonard out to drink from the bird bath.
Obviously, that isn’t what he is supposed to be doing.
But this is what spring is for – wriggling loose from the constraints of winter. Bending the rules. I cross the driveway to check the mail in my socks. No need to pull on a coat or brace myself against a wind. I know there will be more snow before summer takes hold, but it is nice to tilt my face to the sun and take a deep breath and allow myself a bit of lightness while I still feel slightly off-kilter.
I have a cotton-filled skull from this lack of sleep. Everything feels like walking on moss. Soft, but the world is too giving. No way to get traction. No oomph.
I drink coffee until noon – then mint tea. And my stomach growls all day. I’m afraid my life has become a catalog of minutiae.
And a to-do list with unchecked items. A calendar that is an accusation.
But I have a plan for the evening before the sun goes down. I’m going to take a little delight safari in the neighborhood. Maybe figure out what Leonard is fascinated by deep in the neighbor’s thuja tree.
Maybe there’s something in there to grab a hold of. A hook to lift me into tomorrow, and the weekend, and these days now stretching ahead pale and shapeless. I know it’s all a mirage, though. I know that if one pays attention, the days are always much more interesting than you thought they’d be from a distance. Never what you expected, hoped for, but interesting nonetheless.
Textured. Colorful. Sonorous.
Shhh. But right now? I’m going to take a nap.
First the primroses
backing up, into the world
by their enthusiasm –
only then, the daffodils
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..”my life has become a catalog of minutiae.” Every line is brilliant