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12:04

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12:04 a.m.

I open my eyes – close them, certain I’ve seen that time before.

I had been roused from a dream – a recurring dream of navigating myself and my son across jagged rocks while the ocean waves came dangerously close.

Pushing him along and up to the safest route.

The rocks are black.

The waves sweep in and over – then back out.

I keep inching along.

I decide it is important to remember this. I reach down to the floor, grasp my diary and write in the darkness.

The pen falls from my hand.

I find sleep once again.

__________________

3:49 a.m.

The room is bathed in light. If I needed to, I feel I could have left my bed to start the day – but I’m remembering long days and a stressed heart.

I need my rest.

Where is the light coming from?

I try to remember if it was a full moon.

I find sleep.

Sleep deprived Buttery post

I could have sworn it was Saturday this morning.  It really ought to have been.  Nic was off for ‘April break’.  What IS that?  And why is it only one day? 

Anyway – I slept like a baby last night.  Woke up every 2 hours upset with something or another.  Not quite screaming.

Drama + Butters + Sinus Tachycardia + son chatting on his ipad = no Z’s.

(I mean, he was seriously chatting – full on – carrying his conversation buddy around the house. In a moment of delirium, I actually thought a girl was in the bloody kitchen with him.  Then I sussed it out.)

ANYWAY (she says again, and this time she means it)

My pitter pattering heart has been trying out all kinds of fun new ways to present itself to me lately.  ‘Ben Gay like warmth’ feeling … left armpit pain … then last night, it got sassy on the drums … brrrrrrrrm, burr, brrr-bump.  And then something in my chest grabbed a tambourine and started showing off.

A friend taught me to cough to get myself back into rhythm – so I lay there, coughing like a dork.

THEN there’s Butters.  Oh Butters. 

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Don’t let this image fool you.  She does. not. sleep!

For two weeks or so – every few hours from 9pm until my alarm goes off at 6am (not that it’s had a chance to go off for the last week), she stands inches from my face and whines and wags. 

I get up, let her out – and then leave the flipping front door open so she can get back in. 

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You see the crack?  And you’ve seen her nose – so seriously, WHY can’t she ‘nose’ her way back out?!?!  She sure as hell can do it when a cat walks w/in a mile of the house.

I might as well just put an ad on Craig’s List inviting any local wackos or serial killers to my insanely unsecure house at night.

“Come on in! Doors open!  I’ll just be in my room, trying to sleep.  Be as quiet as possible when you kill me.” 

Why does she sleep inside?  Our fence is chicken wire basically … I think intended for really apathetic, frail chickens.  And we have coyotes out and about. 

In between the fun excursions to the flipping door – the tiny snatches of sleep I grabbed onto, (which, resulted in nightmares) Waking up to Nic church mousin’ around the house and my heart getting all excited, I woke up (pffft … didn’t really ‘wake up’ so much as ‘give up’) none too pleased.

I tried to have a chat with her.

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She didn’t care.  She assures me she’ll be doing it tonight too.  And the night after that, and the night after that. 

And the thought occurred … when she’s older, and not energetic  – probably I’ll miss the spry insomniac that she used to be.