As human beings, we need pillows to support our necks. In the evening the sun shines. In the day the sky is grey.
I am the person at the window. I am the one watching. I only watch. I cannot keep them from trouble. I only watch.
The warmth rises. It fills the space. It blocks your nose. It blocks your ears. It disorientates your senses. Where am I? Where is this? What are those flashing lights?
Trouble is, we forget. Who is bad. You see. We forget.
So I have been asleep for a few hours since I started writing to you. It is now almost midnight. I don’t know what I have written before this. (What I write as I am falling asleep is usually nonsense!) I only know what I am writing now.
The room is dark. Except for the light from my phone and the display on the tower fan which says 22°C. The world is still. Right now. I think the window is closed. You are in the bathroom.
I dreamt of the same house twice. First, last night then again tonight. But I can’t remember my dream from tonight, except I was back in that house.
A car drives past breaking the silence.
Now, it is just the ringing in my ears again. The constant high-pitched ringing. Ringing is wrong. It sounds like a continuous flow of sound. Whistling. Yes, whistling is better.
Midnight. 12.00 am. Zero hour.
It is now tomorrow. It is now today.
The sound in my ears is making me feel nauseous.
I am sitting on the edge of the bed in the inky dark. My sinuses are blocked. My face is lit by my phone I can see it out of the corner of my eye reflected in the mirror.
I am sitting in the living room now. You have headphones over your ears and you are playing a game. The hum in the living room competes with the whistling in my ears.
It’s now after two. You are brushing your teeth and I am lying on top of the candlewick bedspread with the red cat. The light is on. It is very late. No sounds outside just the constant whistling in my ears.
2.30 am. Upstairs with a glass of Laphroaig. I have to go to the doctor’s surgery first thing tomorrow to pick up the letter from my GP. I am going to be very tired.
In bed. 4.10 am. Not tired. Headache. Escitalopram yawns. It is very quiet and still. Very pleasant. Just your breathing and the whistling. There is cool air coming in through the window. I can feel it on the back of my neck. I keep clenching my jaw, another escitalopram side-effect. Why am I suddenly getting side-effects after a year?
The brown cat is somewhere in the room I can hear her bell. A car passes heading towards town. The world will be waking up soon but I don’t want to think that. Because I want to sleep.
I am clenching my jaw again. It is making my headache worse. I hope it’s sunny in the morning when I walk over to the doctors. Nice dry heat and the sun on my face.
I ought to try and fall asleep. Maybe I’ll read for a while. My moon is upstairs, charging. I put the potatoes away in the fridge if you are looking for them.
Maybe you should come to bed. I would enjoy your company. Just don’t touch me: it’s too hot! I’ve heard that if you synchronise sleep with the person next to you then you can enter each others dream, imagine that! But you have fall asleep at the same exact fraction of a second, which, of course, is what makes it so difficult. But we should try it, imagine the adventures we could have.
It is very hot again. The room is very warm. I long for cooling breeze to circulate round the room, chilling me to comfortable sleep. My hayfever is playing up, I have taken medication, but my eyes itch and sinuses are blocked which adds to discomfort of trying to sleep. Still it could actually be far far worse. I’m very lucky to be able to whinge and moan about these issues.
I need to close the bedroom door, the noise of television is very loud. Somebody is typing on a computer. If I close my eyes I can see the letters they type:
That’s all I could make out.
The brown cat is here with me. It is quiet outside the window except for an occasional car.
I feel uninspired tonight. I wonder how D. H. Lawrence coped when he felt uninspired writing a letter. He probably, looked out at his unspoiled Italian view and wrote what he saw.
The stillness outside is broken briefly by a loud man. He voice travels across the night air and in through the window and it’s gone, almost like it wasn’t there, like I imagined it.
Suddenly I can’t keep my eyes open. Come sleep, I welcome you.