Everything means something


La Serpiente had more bad dreams last night, lay quivering and moaning as I sat next to her, powerless to wake her, scared to leave her to sleep. I eventually got to sleep about two or three, only to be woken again and again. When you’re hitting the snooze button at 7:15, the morning has not started well. (Curiously, La Serpiente was brilliantly behaved today, not fighting against her commute to school at all.)

I should have slept well. I ran four miles last night, the longest I’ve run in a month, the culmination of four days’ consecutive running. And instead, I didn’t sleep at all, whether a child was waking me or not. I tried everything. I tried reading, not reading, eating cheese, drinking water, meditating. Nothing put me to sleep like the first rays of the sun.

I did write something last night, probably in a manic episode brought on by the start of a cold. At the time, it felt like genius, but all I have to go on now is the phrase “Screw you, I want my ice cream and my Leaving Las Vegas DVD.”

Everything means something. At least, that’s what I hope.


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