I’m up into the morning again, reaching the point where going to sleep before sunrise just seems pointless. I might as well wait it out, climb the oil tank, and wait for dawn to arrive, creeping long fingers over the already pink tinged horizon so slowly that at first I don’t realize what is happening. The metal I sit on will be cold and damp with dew which will seep through even thick pants, and I will wear a heavy sweater because it is chilly out tonight. It reminds me of Vermont out tonight, the air biting and cold. Walking down Avenue N earlier, the wind bit at me and teased my clothes, pulling the words from my mouth and throwing them away before I could speak them.
The day has been a series of isolated incidents and snatches of conversation which work together to create a whole. I’m still digesting it, though. When I go to sleep it will be cloudy, and the murky light will slip fitfully through the blinds while I toss and turn. Perhaps I will wake up with deeper knowledge…perhaps I will rise, tired, from the sheets at noon and stumble downstairs to make tea, giving up on sleep as a bad job. I used to fear these bouts of insomnia, and now I embrace them for the creative force which surges through me.
I write so much that my hands cramp, and the callus on my right hand where my pen rests starts to bleed. I will feel a phantom pen in my hand for days while I wake and while I sleep.
Today I went on a plant liberating mission.
Today I learned something.
Today I felt ashamed of myself.
Today I felt alive and filled with an emotion I could not label.
I think my neighbors are probably not liking me very much right now.
Perhaps I will bake a cake and watch it cool on the counter. Maybe I will cut a slice right then before I frost it, so I should make a torte instead so that it is not as important. I would drizzle it with raspberry sauce and eat it on one of my plates from Japan with my favorite fork. I would sit in the back yard and let the moisture of the rain seep up through me.
The stars were out in force tonight. It is cold and clear and when I can find a patch of dark, I look up into dazzling, brilliant light, a sky filled with promise. These formations so far away seem so small and insignificant, and I wave to them lazily in case someone is watching.
You will go to the moon.
A friend of mine just finished graduate school. He is now an official Master of Arts. I feel guilty.
My father called yesterday. I felt like a betrayer.
I am electric with waiting.