Tuesday, May 21, 2013


Eyes open.  Looks at the alarm clock.  Through bleary, sleep heavy lids, she can see its not yet five.

Time to get up.

The streets, even in this busy City, are quiet at this hour.  She starts to run slowly at first, a light jog.  It's humid but chilly.  Soon she's gathered speed and moving at a steady pace through the quiet city streets. 

But it's never dead here.  Always some movement.  Some delivery or early riser or other runners.  Sleeplessness seems contagious.  That fills her with a sense of...something.  She isn't quite sure what.  Was that really the "in" crowd to which you want to belong?  The sleepless?  Insomniacs United.

Now there's a good sweat going.  Two miles?  Yea that sounds about right.  Two miles.  Two more to go.  She's feeling good.  Music in her ears, sky heavy with clouds.  She's moving to the rhythm of her own thoughts.

Her thoughts.  They go everywhere when she runs.  To her to-do list.  To work.  Flights of fancy.  Desire. 

Now she's done.  About forty five minutes.  Breathing hard now as she lightly jogs back to her building, toweling the sweat off as she smiles to the doorman.

Now she's in the shower.  Turning the hot water as cold as she can stand it, letting her core temperature come down some, feeling the sweat slowly stop its release from her skin. 

The shower.  Another place where her thoughts flow free.  Different types of thoughts than the ones she has when she runs.  She wonders, briefly, if he's up yet.  She's always up before him and has learned to be quiet in the mornings.  No need why he needs to suffer for her inability to sleep.

Now she's dressed in smart work attire.  She's on the train.  She's left earlier than him today because she's leaving work early.  Want to get almost a full day in.  So a hard kiss on the mouth and a "see you later".

Now she's at work.  Unable to start.  Wanting to  but unable to.  She scans the internet.  Finds a story about an ex-chasid who went OTD.  It all started with listening to the radio, he writes.  But did it really?  What really comes first, the under pinnings or the seduction?

Now she needs to write.  To release.  To leech out the depression she suddenly has with words.

Try poetry, someone once suggested.

But what is poetry, or any written form of expression?  When it's right, it's raw and unrelenting.  She is who she is.  Take her (like so many have) or leave her (like so many more).  You think she gives a fuck?

(Of course she does.  But secretly.  Her hearts been ripped apart too.  She's felt loss and betrayal and hurt and humiliation.  So she developed a shell.  Harder than some.  But not quite hard enough.) 

She smiles.  The office begins to fill up with people.  She notices that almost everyone walks in with coffee.  For some reason this fills her with satisfaction.  Time to work now. 

The day has begun.


  1. I used to own those quiet early-morning streets...good imagery.

  2. oh, to run. jealous of that.

  3. ek - oh that chris rock
    JS- easy when sleep isn't your friend.
    G - easy when sleep isn't your friend :)

  4. Kids with bad sleeping habits TOTALLY cured my insomnia. It's amazing how I can sleep now that the choice is out of my hands.