Each coming day is slightly shorter. And when a new day starts, I do my exercises, take turns reading, writing, and translating, and enjoy the ever-absent sun. After a while I get tired and need to rest. Once in bed, I struggle with tiredness; I look for something else to do: phoning friends, doing crosswords, drafting and revising poems, or typing the drafts into the computer.
Then, the light coming through the window has dimmed too much for crosswords or drafting, Eric gets dinner ready, and the three of us eat and chat. The ceiling light has been on for quite a while. When I’m done with my food, Eric starts making my meds. It’s time for the ritual that precedes sleep. And envisioning sleep brings fear with it, and I stay awake for hours in the middle of the night. Insomnia is the invisible evocation of death – no image comes along with evocation.
Increasingly shorter nights mean an increasingly quicker fear.
Then, the light coming through the window has dimmed too much for crosswords or drafting, Eric gets dinner ready, and the three of us eat and chat. The ceiling light has been on for quite a while. When I’m done with my food, Eric starts making my meds. It’s time for the ritual that precedes sleep. And envisioning sleep brings fear with it, and I stay awake for hours in the middle of the night. Insomnia is the invisible evocation of death – no image comes along with evocation.
Increasingly shorter nights mean an increasingly quicker fear.
RSS Feed
