Ahhh, in the quiet of this season I can hear the voices in my head all the clearer again. Clamoring for attention.
There are stories in my head, stories that I had never been able to tell because, frankly, I didn't know how. I think I might have enough tools to try now, though I don't have a good sense of my chance of success.
I went to bed at a rational time Sunday night, I don't know, about 10:30pm or so.
And then was wide awake, alert, at 11. I tried to breath, to relax back to sleep (a veteran of many years of insomnia as a child, I have skills). But at each try my body was spasm, all over... a familiar spasm, to someone with a touch of Tourrettes. Just a touch, just enough to make my life interesting.
This is the all body spasm I get when my mind is overstimulated for some reason -- stress is one activator, for example, but there are others. Any time my imagination gets too active, develops a picture that is too strong, it is like a static discharge blowing across parts of my brain, and then the image fades.
When I'm doing creative work, the challenge is to keep the imagination working, but not running wild.
No matter. There was a scene stuck in my brain and it had to be let out.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed the remains of a bottle of Zinfandel and carried up and my glass upstairs.
Leaving the lights off I turned on the monitor and sat in the blue glow.
And typed. A paragraph.
I poured a glass of wine.
Two more paragraphs, and I sip.
I only ended up with two pages, I think, and not well written -- but they served their purpose. I had a glass and a half of wine in me then, which made me loopy but did not beckon in sleep like it usually does.
So I spent time online. I talked to some folks and watched others in their rooms. A friend came online and I talked there for a while too.
3:00am came eventually and, while I wasn't feeling sleepy yet, I was feeling sick from three glasses of wine and weary enough from the late hour to attempt to go to bed.
And I did sleep, thankfully. But 6:30 am saw me awake again and heading to the shower.
I felt fine, if a bit queasy. I took special care riding the elevators that day, my inner ear protesting at the vertical motions.
It only took a few hours at work before the weariness struck me like a mallet. I got stuff done that day, but not much.
Once home again, I collapsed on the couch with the intent of getting two hours of nap before I had Taiji and dancing classes.
The fates were not with me when, a half hour later, the accursed insurance company called me. I got no happiness talking to them, but I did lose my inclination to nap.
Munchies and some water set the stage for my evening, and both classes went by surprisingly well. I showed surprising energy and good cheer.
And today... I'm doing well. I'm a happy camper. Things are good. Very good.
Except for the air conditioning, which isn't quite happy.
And the little detail that I had better start writing soon, before my head explodes.
I think some of those stories are getting a bit too agressive for my taste. I hope I can do them justice.