Late at night the anxiety creeps into my belly. Restless legs tangle the sheet. Damp hair clings. Furtive glances at the glowing green light reveal the same time as last night, a repeat nocturnal performance.
I am not entirely new to this breach in sleep. I have not been on the Sandman’s list periodically since high school. Mid-terms, finals, wedding, birthing, crying babies, money, fights, allergies and every other common sleep demon jar me awake in the wee hours. Type A personality also requires playing out various scenarios in the middle of the night until satisfied that plans A through at least D are firmly in place. “Wonderfully spontaneous,” reads one feed back card after leading a women’s retreat. What a fake I can be!
Sudden sleep arrest and my dance with sheets and pillows begins. I lay there as waves of fear wash over me. I live in a camper. I have no address. Does that make me homeless? I roll over, punch the pillow and take a deep breath. My husband is ill. Mental illness lies in wait, threatening and menacing the life we have built. Will tomorrow be a good day or a bad day? Kicking the sheets off now. Do we have enough in our account for the prescriptions and gas for the truck? Is a big bottle of wine a week too much? Mental note to take alcoholic test on internet tomorrow. Cold sweat brings the sheets back up. What if I gain ten pounds every year until I die? No fair, I walk a lot, I bike, I swim. I eat too much. The sky light over our bed shows the slightest graying of sky. I rise and make coffee.
Coffee cup in hand, I step outside into the world. It’s so quiet. I smell damp earth and last night’s wood smoke. Birds take up their chorus in the spreading light. Squirrels stare me down. The warm mug reminds me of the sweet friend who made it. We have been friends since elementary school. Then I think of other friends. I am not alone.
Sneaking back inside for the second cup of my daily allowance, I see that the dogs are awake. They come outside with me. Early in the morning we break the leash rules. No one to see us. A quick pee and they sit by me watching the morning roll in. My mind wanders to grandchildren soon arriving for a camping overnight. We have recently discovered the beauty of toasted marshmallows and chocolate in an ice cream cone. Crying over sticky fingers only a memory.The camper door opens and my husband steps out. He is smiling. Last night’s fears join the sticky fingers. Today will be a good day.
*Why does the night makes more out of our fears than the day?
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