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June 03, 2005

in dreams you're mine, all the time

Is it possible for something to be the best part of the day and the worst part of the day at the same time? I don't mean a la Charles Dickens (I don't think I do anyway) ... I mean for something to be both the best and the worst together. For me it's after Herself is asleep and Moo is--well, Moo is probably downstairs watching television or playing Diablo or listening to his radio or reading or staring off into nothing, as he and most insomniacs might do on occasion, or on most nights--when the house is quiet and it's time for bed.

I know I've written about night and bed before, but there's something about that time--I don't know. I think about it during the day. The curtains closed. The light over the bed. If the windows are open, the sound of the chimes, soft and lazy, barely stirred by a breeze. Geese arguing furiously out on the lake for a minute and then suddenly falling silent again. The house is quiet. I wash my face, put on a t-shirt, get into bed with a book and pull up the blanket. Lie there and listen to the night world. I am so happy to be there, warm, propped on my pillows, the whole bed mine all mine. I spread out, get right in the middle of the bed without worrying about taking up too much space. I yawn, close my eyes for a minute. Who knows what great dreams I'll have, and how delicious it will be to know that I'm drifting down, down into sleep--or maybe I'll close my eyes and I'll be gone, just like that, pushed over the edge.

The light over the bed. If the windows are open, the sound of the chimes, soft and lazy, barely stirred by a breeze. Geese arguing furiously out on the lake for a minute and then suddenly falling silent again. The house is quiet. I wash my face, put on a t-shirt, get into bed with a book and pull up the blanket. Lie there and listen to the night world. I feel the emptiness of the house, the bedroom, the bed. I think about how much I took for granted, all the nights I went to bed wanting only to be left alone. Be careful what you wish for, as they say. And now I lie in bed with books for company and if only, if only there were a knock on the door and someone would come in and lie down with me, just lie down with me for a while, just another body there in bed with me. But that's so not going to happen. Who knows what dreams I'll have, and whether I will be able to sleep--or maybe I'll close my eyes and I'll be gone, just like that, pushed over the edge, and wake up in an hour or two and lie in bed. Listening to the sound of the chimes, soft and lazy, barely stirred by a breeze. Until morning.

Posted by JudyLa at 06:00 AM | Comments (0)