I know I should totally be sleeping, and not writing. But my mind is a jumble of activity, and I cannot seem to slow it down tonight, so as a result, I found myself lying in bed, listening to my sweet husband breathe slowly in and out with the rhythm of sleep. I'd close my eyes, and listen to the gentle tumbling of the dryer, with it's last load of laundry drying, and the occasional clank of some unknown object in the mix. I'd listen to the traffic driving by, and wonder if the world ever slows down to a complete stop here, and remembering that I've been awake at almost every hour of the night at some point in the last five months, I realize that it doesn't. I'd listen, while the thoughts in my head raced around and chased one another in a game of cat and mouse, beckoning me to ponder and process each of them, while refusing to sit still long enough to allow some focus and clarity.
The mind is a terribly frightful and fascinating thing. The speed with which we can think and process amazes me, and the huge swath of things that the mind can cover in a fraction of a second amazes me. From things of the past, to dreams of the future, my mind puddle skips through everything, kissing the ocean of thought for such a brief moment that I wonder if the thought even occurred. The seemingly random order that the thoughts occur, along with the astonishingly strong connections that bind the thoughts get me thinking about how one thing can lead to something unexpected. So as I lie there, willing sleep upon myself, I try so hard to slow the flurry of words and images bursting before my eyes. Resigned, I give up, and throw off the covers. I gingerly walk through the house, past my sons room, where I peek in to see if he's still sleeping. Satisfied, I walk to the living room, turn on the computer, and squint as the monitor comes to life.
With my eyes adjusting, I open this page, and realize... I have nothing to type. The thoughts and feelings pulsing through my mind refuse to be caught and put into words. They pick up pace and scatter at such a speed, it's as if there is nothing. And suddenly, there is nothing. My mind becomes a blank canvas, with nothing but a blinking cursor. I ignore the blinding whiteness, and just begin to type. What I type does not matter so much as that I type. For a moment, the madness is at bay, and my mind is still. I know that when the typing stops, the thoughts will return, no matter the sleepiness I feel when typing, and I will once again find myself lying in bed, snuggled in the warmth of my husbands arms, listening.... to the sound of his gentle breath... to the sound of traffic... to the sound of the dryer finishing it's last load... to the sound of my own ears, pulsing with the noise of my thoughts banging around inside my head... and before long, the sound of sleep will envelop me, with my thoughts chasing themselves into my dreams where they weave their way through the stories and nightmares of my mind. And through that tapestry, they free themselves from the confines of simple words and images that flutter before my eyes just before sleep. A freedom that perhaps I'll remember, or perhaps will be lost, but nonetheless... a freedom that allows me to sleep... and dream.