Having written nothing for a month and a half, why not get out of bed at 12:15AM with a sudden compulsion to sneak up on inertia in the dark.
Lately, sleeping has not been coming easily and when it does, there are nightmares. Or, if not nightmares exactly, then nightmare-adjacent dreams. Except the one about the child I was trying to rescue from sex trafficking. I think we can reasonably call that one a nightmare. I thought I was out of the woods when the worst thing that happened in Friday's dreamscape was that the vase of flowers I was trying to leave as a surprise on the hood of my friend Bill's car blew over in the wind. In last night's though, I tried to take a short cut from one street to another through Adam's house and he was PISSED about it. I have not seen him in years, so I expected him to be more pleased to see me. He seemed to feel that since I haven't seen him in years I shouldn't be walking into his house unannounced through the back door. Right. Bad call. But damn. He was so angry.
It has not been restful, is what I'm saying. And the lying in the dark for an hour staring at the ceiling that precedes these dreams (unless I stay up until 2AM or so) is not all that placid either. What gives, body?
In unrelated news, I said goodbye to someone I love last week--hustled him through the BART turnstyle at midnight like an urban Cinderella and that was it. Two days later he stopped being a Californian and went back to being a European. Though I will miss him immeasurably, I didn't cry when we parted. This astonished me (I am, as we all know, an inveterate crier). I was pretty excited. I thought perhaps this dry-eyed adieu marked some kind of new plateau of maturity and/or spiritual growth. Oh, hi there, insomnia. What's up, nightmares.
Ah. So, not unrelated news as it turns out.
Stealth sadness. Dammit. That's cold, brain.