Revelations at dawn
April 15, 2015 § 11 Comments
Something happens to my brain at night.
During the day I can rein it in. I can still the questions, the wondering, the perseverating on things not yet seen. But as I click off the lamp and allow the darkness to blanket my bed, my mind runs free, unchained, a hamster on a squeaky wheel that goes nowhere.
At night the future seems even more uncertain.
Perhaps it’s fatigue. Perhaps it’s the quiet or the darkness, or the lack of activities and deadlines and phone calls and school lifts. But I’m more likely to dwell on the negatives, on the worst case scenarios, on the what-ifs, the what-will-I-do’s and the what-if-I-can’ts…
Round and round I go, imagining terrible scenarios and crafting alternate plans – if this, then that. If that doesn’t work, then something else. And so on and so forth till I think I’m going mad.
Speeches are mentally written and discarded, emails drafted and trashed. Solutions evade me, words fail me. I thrash around till the sheets are twisted and hot, and a tear slowly leaks over my cheek.
Finally, fitfully, I fall asleep, and hours later I wake. A sliver of sun slides between the curtains, and suddenly everything seems clearer.
And I’m reminded again of my favourite line in the film adaptation of Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient, uttered by the film’s most uncomfortable character, Caravaggio.
“You get to the morning and the poison leaks away, doesn’t it?”
This week there are six of us writing on this topic, in a simultaneous blogging exercise that Dave Luis has dubbed Tandemonium! We don’t see each other’s posts, and we all publish at the same time. You can read what Dave, Cath, Scott, Nick and Brett wrote by clicking on their names.