The evening is long. I run, shower, dress as if I'm meeting someone even though I'm not. Watch, earrings, rings, necklace. Hair soft, smooth, clean. I sit in a chair on the third floor of Barnes & Noble, trying to read, but all I can think of is Nice. Hotel Trocadero, Musee des Beaux Arts, Promenade des Anglaise after nightfall. A thousand other things that have no business showing up in my reverie.
I've been sleeping strangely lately, but I don't wake up tired. I wake wishing I could stay in bed longer, though, for the sleep I've been getting lately is the sort in which I am somehow aware of being curled perfectly beneath blankets. I rarely dream outside of this. If I do, it is brief.
So strange.
So much is left without explanation. I wonder why and how long and if and there are no ready answers. I don't know if I'd want them if there were.
So I come home, slip into pajamas, remove watch, rings, earrings, necklace. The cat jumps onto my lap at an inopportune moment, causing essential oils to splash where they do not belong.
I am tired. I have walked everywhere possible today, sometimes with a tall boy at my side, sometimes by myself. If there's anything I wish for now, it is the sweet kind of sleep in which I do not dream. If I am fortunate, if I am lucky, if I am blessed, I may just get it.
2006-01-03 - 10:33 p.m.
