In The Wee Hours

Waking up in the middle of the night and being unable to get back to sleep is not necessarily something to fret about. Maybe it is age and experience or perhaps mere feebleness, but I don’t worry too much about it.

In my early twenties I experienced some bouts of real insomnia. Now that’s a different story. That is night after night of little or no sleep. Soon a kind of fear of bedtime begins to develop. I shudder at the thought.

In the quiet of the night I hear the occasional cars, the strange faint moaning version of snoring from a neighbor, a floor creaking somewhere.

I get up and check email, for some reason. I return to bed and read for a while.

I take off my glasses and try to sleep again - to no avail. Even with a t-shirt over my eyes and an old radio turned to a soft “nature” sound of breaking ocean waves, my mind lurches and scrambles around various internal spaces.

So, I get up and move to the couch and sit in the dark. I think about my day, about work, and certain people. I purposely refuse to allow myself to ponder worrisome things.

I return to the computer. For this.