sleeping and waking

 sleeping and waking 

It’s harder and harder to get up in the morning - it’s the medicine. I fall asleep in the afternoon, sometimes while I’m drinking my second cup of coffee: I’m sitting on the couch; it’s on the table beside me. I’m listening to music - this afternoon it was Peter, Paul, and Mary’s version of “Don’t Think Twice.” I’m listening to music, and I’m trying to read - I’m working my way - for almost two months I’ve been working my way - through Naguib Mahfouz’ Cairo Trilogy. The coffee is on the table beside me; Kamal is getting ready to give up on love again - it is easier to be lonely - for however long it takes. I have a slice of headache behind my eyes, and I put the book aside, because of the headache and because the loneliness Kamal is choosing is too palpable. If I put the book aside, I won’t feel it as much. Peter, Paul, and Mary are singing Igavehermyheartbutshewantedmysoul. I put my feet up on the coffee table, sliding down into the back cushions of the couch.

Sometimes I sleep only ten minutes but sometimes two hours when it’s harder to wake up. It’s the medicine.

the time signature keeps changing

The grocery store is in walking distance. When I wake up, I look for a recipe. It has to be simple in the sense that it takes one step at a time; it can’t have “while” in it. It’s good if it has a lot of chopping; I like chopping, I’m good at it.

     After supper, I do the dishes. I’m good at that, too.

It’s not hard to go to bed; it’s not hard to go to sleep. But it’s hard to stay asleep. The dreams come, and I become anxious and have to get away. They’re not frightening, but I become anxious because they have “while” in them; the time signature keeps changing; the keys are all minor.

     It’s the medicine.

11.15.17