6 Hours Later...

It was like I had to claw my way through mud to fall asleep.

It was like floating up to the surface of the Dead Sea waking up.

Buoyant, light, easy.  Way to easy.

I'm achy all over.  An indication that my rest wasn't easy.  And I have total recall of my insane dreams.  Also not a positive.  This is why it seems easier to just not sleep sometimes.  But last night I wanted it so bad.  Like some kind of lover, I ached after the quiet darkness, a darkness that just won't come.  That just eludes me on the fringes.  I sleep, but there is no rest.

So I'm in my bed.

Awake.  

6 hours later.

I turn on NPR.  Try not to fidget, try not to move.  Hoping that maybe I can fall back in.  But there is to much going on mentally.  

I'm running through last night over and over again.  Like some kind of fever dream.  The kind that you fall into and seems so real.  That is how last night feels.  Dancing nearly silently to Sharon Jones, quiet words, and my favorite place with some of my best friends.  So calming so perfect.  And then separation.

Anxiety.  Self-medication.  A burn that still smells of cigarette.

Then restless un-helpful sleep.  Dreams of men that scream at me for the way I dress.  And things that get darker.  Covens in the basement of buildings.  Grottoes and heathen rites.  All with S.F. and I running for our lives.  The old ways have their grip on me sometimes still.

So I'm awake.

6 hours later.

I dress in the same clothes and grab my book.  Hoodie and jacket to face the cold and wind.  I need to eat and think about fiction.  I go to the Sunday Breakfast Place Of Choice.  Trying to wrap my head around what the hell is wrong with me.  Pounding down food, coffee,  and a hundred pages.  I need to break this "fever."  I feel like I'm still dreaming.  This afternoon I'm getting b., a., and s. back.  I need to be right for them.

I need to re-focus.

Be awake.

6 hours later.

I'm not.

I'm something other than dad.  I'm glad that they aren't here this morning.  For the first time since the current arrangement started.  For the first time I didn't open their door and stare at their empty beds.  I want them to think of their dad as the tickle monster, not the monster.  And today I feel like the later.  Like snakes are seething in my stomach.  Like there is something behind my eyes that I can't trust.

I wish I could just sleep.

Regular.  Quiet.  Restful.  Sleep.

I feel like I'm bursting at the seams.

I'm going to try and nap today.

Pray for us sinners.  Now, and in the hour of our death.

File under Vice.