Here I am awake. Do the ghosts keep me sleep-deprived? Or the arthritis? Doesn’t matter really.
I tried going to sleep. Really I did. J and I set out to watch a movie together. Hitchcock. Patricia Highsmith. Robert Walker. Strangers On A Train. I should be able to stay awake. Wrong. I fell asleep. A nap is sleep’s version of a Taco Bell burrito. Like that burrito, the nap isn’t what I want, or what I need, or what will satisfy. So I missed the movie, and am faced with anxiety about tomorrow and how I shall fill my time.
So now I am a little sleepier. But I am dressed. Maybe sleeping in my clothes is the best I can do.