Nights of Goleta
Which side should I sleep on? Each night I lay down in clean crisp sheets wondering which side I am suppose to sleep on. How does one decide to go to bed? At this age certainly there is no dictator in my home. I have all night to get enough sleep, why do I choose this time or that time? I lay awake in the dark each night worrying about nothing and everything. I think about late bills, and late phone calls I intended to make to resentful loved ones, who grow ever less loving of their absent friend Patrick. How long will a friend wait with out communique or promulgation?(look it up) I have stretched those limits with each and every member of my circle. The ones who used to know me best referred to it as "boating" as in, Q: "Have you heard from Patrick?" A: "No, he must be boating."
But this side of the bed thing really cause's me pain. When I lay on my back I feel as if I am waiting for the undertaker, and when I plant my face down into the pillow I feel I resemble a passed out drunk. So I reach for some dignity in my repose, some grace in my posture of slumber. But do I turn left or right, they are both frightfully empty. Either side leaves me staring into the dark, wide awake and worrying. On my right side I look down the open door to the hall and the bathroom beyond, with its open window above the shower which will of course let in the sounds of the construction crew sharply at 7am each morning.
When I role to my left and gather the pillow to my chest I am looking past the small gap I left between the bed and the wall which puts my bed too close to the wall heater on my right but allows me to get all the way round the bed to change the linens. That gap is nothing but I never hang my arms over it. I feel odd if I hang over the island of my bed. Not a foot or finger, no arm vulnerable, this impulse or compulse a residue of childhood I know, but can not shake. The fear of some nightmare jumping up from the carpet and biting off a finger haunts me. The wall to my left separates me from my neighbor. A music lover, and to be truthful I love that music too. Contemporary hip hop and pop from India or Persia. I don't understand the lyrics but I cherish the moment my faceless peer electrifies his or her speakers and fills my bedroom with good loud noise. It leaves me with no doubt about leaving sleep behind for the adventures of the day. At least more uplifting than the chop saw they are using on the building outside my window another unavoidable wake up call. My brother suggested I draw pay from the crew seeing as I start work everyday on their schedule.
Please don't take any of this as complaint. I truly love my bed, I retreat here often, but when safely secured with in its borders I am free to fret and worry and think. But also write and read, and imagine. But still I would like to know which side I am suppose to lay on. It's easier when she is here, because then I don't have to decide.
But this side of the bed thing really cause's me pain. When I lay on my back I feel as if I am waiting for the undertaker, and when I plant my face down into the pillow I feel I resemble a passed out drunk. So I reach for some dignity in my repose, some grace in my posture of slumber. But do I turn left or right, they are both frightfully empty. Either side leaves me staring into the dark, wide awake and worrying. On my right side I look down the open door to the hall and the bathroom beyond, with its open window above the shower which will of course let in the sounds of the construction crew sharply at 7am each morning.
When I role to my left and gather the pillow to my chest I am looking past the small gap I left between the bed and the wall which puts my bed too close to the wall heater on my right but allows me to get all the way round the bed to change the linens. That gap is nothing but I never hang my arms over it. I feel odd if I hang over the island of my bed. Not a foot or finger, no arm vulnerable, this impulse or compulse a residue of childhood I know, but can not shake. The fear of some nightmare jumping up from the carpet and biting off a finger haunts me. The wall to my left separates me from my neighbor. A music lover, and to be truthful I love that music too. Contemporary hip hop and pop from India or Persia. I don't understand the lyrics but I cherish the moment my faceless peer electrifies his or her speakers and fills my bedroom with good loud noise. It leaves me with no doubt about leaving sleep behind for the adventures of the day. At least more uplifting than the chop saw they are using on the building outside my window another unavoidable wake up call. My brother suggested I draw pay from the crew seeing as I start work everyday on their schedule.
Please don't take any of this as complaint. I truly love my bed, I retreat here often, but when safely secured with in its borders I am free to fret and worry and think. But also write and read, and imagine. But still I would like to know which side I am suppose to lay on. It's easier when she is here, because then I don't have to decide.
Remember you had night terrors?
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