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Waking up

 


It's quiet, and that's normal, but I can't stop myself, I have to check, and as I lay my hand upon the middle of your back and hear you mumble something, I whisper my usual sorry and roll away carefully. 

I have to get out of this loop. I fell asleep after wearing myself out writing a script for the last broadcast on the radio given in the event of, well I don't even want to write it here. Suffice to say, the broadcaster can hardly get his words out, fails totally in being reassuring, and after breaking down completely, puts Sailing By on. It makes me cry. 

Evidently that's all that was required to make sleep come and I enjoyed a short, deep, dreamless sleep which was a relief because I don't get much of that these days. 

I know I'm not alone. We seem to have a world wide sleep deprivation epidemic, blamed on everything from phones to food. Hardly anyone mentions the terrifying atmosphere of hate and fear that surely no-one is immune to. So as I lie as still as possible, indulging myself in doom dark thoughts I wonder if my brain is giving off some kind of restless electricity that's contributing to this already agitating atmosphere. 

I re-write the apocalyptic radio broadcast in my head two or three times until, listening to Sailing By in my head, I start to cry again and somehow fall again into that dark and dreamless pit which refreshes me a little again. Enough to slip out of bed and put the kettle on. 

                                                                  *

It's still dark outside, but we're the other side of Solstice now, and, all being well, snowdrops might start appearing soon maybe not in my garden, I haven't had much luck with them in recent years, but in the little wood beside the river. Which didn't flood this winter ( I touch wood here ) 

I make the tea and feed the cat and know that I won't write my last broadcast down because I believe that you can write things into existence. I also know this seems superstitious, nevertheless, it's a deeply held belief I have in the power of mind and language. Writing down observations and thoughts about them is one thing, to write something that may never happen is quite another thing. 


And with that almost optimistic thought, I take two cups of tea up to the bedroom and wait patiently for some faint sunlight to lighten the sky, or your softly sleeping figure to wake to a possibly warm cup of tea. 


                                                                      *









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