Thoughts, dreams, desires

An insomniac’s thoughts, like the night, are darkest just before the dawn.
Legs form a figure 4 in crumpled sheets, resist the urge to get up, so something. Head rests on hands, elbows out. Cursed looks at the clock, 2:53 a.m.; 3:11; 3:28; 4:01; 4:20.
Think, ponder, grasp.
There’s anger and sadness, thinking that no matter how good you do your job, the company will keep coming back and asking for some of its money back. That you’ve done everything they’ve ever asked – and more – and it can never be good enough. That you've got nothing left to give, a debt that crushes the lungs, the spirit.
There’s the pondering of not making the move in the first place. The pining for the life you had, the social agenda, the house, the girlfriend – but, then, there was the job that you came to despise. You jump forward, move to the prairie and everything is reversed. You work to make it like it was, but the going is slow and the frustrations rise.
Throw in worry and frustration that come when a family member is dying of cancer. The needs that have to be met, the tough decisions that always seem to crop up. The plans you had do not now mesh with the needs of the family. You gladly decide to put your life on hold – such as it is these days – and pledge to do what you can.
Then the pipe dreams come, the lottery fantasy, the one where you write and publish a best-seller, the one where you’re dating the hot brunette from Australia who has a Ph.d and a tattoo and likes to mountain bike (it could happen).
Then comes the realization of freedom, or close to it – it’s a combination of dreams and what would be hard-fought reality – to take this time of uncertainty and go do something constructive. Rebuild neighborhoods in New Orleans; go back to school and write that novel; use your skills for the common good.
And the cancer pulls you back. You’re on hold, remember?
(Why not quit, take care of him fully? You think.)
The dawn breaks and you no longer can hold off the new day.
And you put on a “good face” in the closet to meet it.
Knowing that at some point, you’ll be back in the darkness, awake, thinking.

4 comments:

Beth said...

The ice weasels have taken up residence, sounds like. They especially love those 3 a.m. parties. Short term -- try a benedryl or check with your doc for something to help you sleep. Long term -- one day at a time, moment by moment.

Teri and the cats of Furrydance said...

yes...it makes insomnia take hold. You share and reread your life at the moment. I hope that helps in some way, if only to ponder peace and zen someplace in your future...we all have dreams that keep us going

R.V said...

Each day seems like a battle between me and those I love.

I know how that feels. Every step I need to think a zillion times when I want to do something. It feels selfish to think about myself when some1 I love is in pain..

Sorry, this post just bought out a lot of emotions I can relate to!

svojoh said...

Imagine for a moment that you had both parents in relatively good health who lived 7 minutes from your house and they had no desire to contact you or see you. When you think about it your quite lucky to have a parent who loves you, even with all the difficulties. Good read! Lots of feelings.