Last Night
For two hours, unraveling the knots in my skein of wool yarn, I was fine. But when I stopped, around one AM, to brush my teeth and wash my face, it started. The wheezing and the shortness of breath. I coughed to try to open my lungs, but only irritated my throat. More coughing. A light massage to help me relax - after all, this must be psychological. Feeling panicky. A shot of brandy. Breathe into a paper bag. A word game to distract me. But talking only increases the urge to cough. Turn out the lights, try to be still, try to breathe shallow breaths, try not to cough, try to melt into the mattress, loosen my muscles.
3:00. Still awake. Still tossing, gasping, coughing. I really don't want to keep Eric awake any longer. Sit up, lotus position. Lean forward, forehead against my hands, folded in front of my legs. For some reason this opens my chest. If only I could sleep in this position. But I can't sleep at all. So I pick up my pillow, go downstairs, unfold the blanket draped over the couch. God, the numbers on the VCR are bright. Lay my feet alongside the sleeping Siamese. Toss, turn, gasp.
5:30. Awake again. I slept, but I'm not sure it counts. Dreamt of fighting, always conscious of a rasping throat. We saw Macbeth at the University today. In my dream, I was sometimes Macbeth, sometimes a tangled and knotted mass of scratchy wool yarn. Every muscle in my body stiff as bone. Can't will myself to relax. Toss, gasp.
8:17. Pounding on the front door. Twice. Get up, consider answering. But who would it be? The neighbor left town early this morning to do some work for his cousin. Probably someone at the wrong house again. Lay back down on the couch. Louder pounding. Wrap the blanket around, open the door, peek around the edge. It's the neighbor. He doesn't have a phone right now, and needs to borrow mine. He got to the next town over, and his transmission went out. Drove the fifteen miles home in first gear. 25 miles an hour. Take the phone from him when he's finished, say goodbye. Lie back down. Fall asleep immediately.
10:04. God, I hate sleeping past nine. Chainsaws a huge chunk out of the most productive part of the day. Pick up my pillow, go back upstairs, where the sun shines brightly through the white blinds. Make Eric scoot over. Lie down. Lie awake.
Finally, give up, get out of bed, take a hot shower. Go to breakfast, eat an omelette, have a cup of tea. Relax a little. But my throat is still sore, my neck is sore, my eyes are heavy, my stomach is sloshy, my hearing is dull, my brain is lax. Lipton instant soup helps a bit.
Now it's time to read for class and make sugar cookies for the hunting party.
3:00. Still awake. Still tossing, gasping, coughing. I really don't want to keep Eric awake any longer. Sit up, lotus position. Lean forward, forehead against my hands, folded in front of my legs. For some reason this opens my chest. If only I could sleep in this position. But I can't sleep at all. So I pick up my pillow, go downstairs, unfold the blanket draped over the couch. God, the numbers on the VCR are bright. Lay my feet alongside the sleeping Siamese. Toss, turn, gasp.
5:30. Awake again. I slept, but I'm not sure it counts. Dreamt of fighting, always conscious of a rasping throat. We saw Macbeth at the University today. In my dream, I was sometimes Macbeth, sometimes a tangled and knotted mass of scratchy wool yarn. Every muscle in my body stiff as bone. Can't will myself to relax. Toss, gasp.
8:17. Pounding on the front door. Twice. Get up, consider answering. But who would it be? The neighbor left town early this morning to do some work for his cousin. Probably someone at the wrong house again. Lay back down on the couch. Louder pounding. Wrap the blanket around, open the door, peek around the edge. It's the neighbor. He doesn't have a phone right now, and needs to borrow mine. He got to the next town over, and his transmission went out. Drove the fifteen miles home in first gear. 25 miles an hour. Take the phone from him when he's finished, say goodbye. Lie back down. Fall asleep immediately.
10:04. God, I hate sleeping past nine. Chainsaws a huge chunk out of the most productive part of the day. Pick up my pillow, go back upstairs, where the sun shines brightly through the white blinds. Make Eric scoot over. Lie down. Lie awake.
Finally, give up, get out of bed, take a hot shower. Go to breakfast, eat an omelette, have a cup of tea. Relax a little. But my throat is still sore, my neck is sore, my eyes are heavy, my stomach is sloshy, my hearing is dull, my brain is lax. Lipton instant soup helps a bit.
Now it's time to read for class and make sugar cookies for the hunting party.
posted by Amber at 4:46 PM
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