Posts Tagged ‘sleep


Weird Stuff Goin’ On Here


*Poof*  So, where was I?  Oh yeah.  Not like a good neighbor, I was down in my dungeon the other day with an empty plate sitting next to me on my bed.  I was trying to make some progress with my latest writing project when something made my butt shift.  The sound of the plate shattering on the hard floor at my feet stuck with me for a long while.  It was both harmonious and haunting.  I quickly thought of people breaking plates at a wedding.  What was that for, again?  Scaring off evil spirits?  Am I supposed to shout something like “Oh-pah!”?  Instead, I kept typing and thinking until I finally got up, got dressed and swept up the mess.

That was rare.  I can’t remember how long it’s been since I broke a plate or glass.

Then, just last night, I was sitting in my dungeon, again, trying to milk my tired brain, fill another page.  I decided to call it a night.  There was another empty plate on my bed.  I picked it up, intending to deliver it to the kitchen.  Some strange feeling came over me like a ghost holding my hand.  My fingers shook.  I blanked out for a second.  The plate slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.  “Again?!” I groaned.  I couldn’t believe it.  Two plates in one weekend.

Is there some superstition attached to this?  Is the number of plates significant?  Does anyone know?  Should I just look it up online?

On top of this weirdness, I’ve been struggling with a bout of spring allergies and what seems to be some sort of head cold affecting different parts of the body, but primarily my nose and throat.  I am fighting a tickle cough and noticing my “alien arm” looking a tad more crooked/curved and painful to stretch.  Yet, I also have more strength and a desire to stretch it.



Functioning on Three Hours of Sleep…


…at MY age is like Max Payne on painkillers.  My eyes and throat are on fire.  And, if I get tired enough, I suppose I could be seeing flying shadow creatures.  Wait, those are floaters.



Go to Sleep, and Wake Up with a New Website…Again?!

I swear, blog sites don’t sleep or stay the same for long.  You go to bed and wake up the next day with a new sandbox.  Here I am expecting to see my familiar controls, and they’ve changed, AGAIN.  The last time, certain features were on the right.  Then they went to the left.  Now, the icons changed, again.  I wonder if it would freak me out as much if I didn’t come here as often.  Maybe I’d miss a few changes and only experience one.  At least, I can still find my “fingers and toes.”

Am I the only one who cares?


There Is a Bed–sad version

[I’m usually opposed to poetry. I’ve written my fair share of corny and depressing rhymes. But, every now and then, I opt out of writing my thoughts as a novel. This is one of those occasions. In this first incarnation, it’s a negative outlook. In my effort to cheer myself up and think more positively, I will endeavor to let my imagination run wild and write an uplifting alternative afterward.]




There’s a bed waiting for me,
Waiting to catch me when I fall,
Waiting to offer relief when I grow weak,
Waiting to make promises it can’t keep,
Waiting for me to fail,
Waiting for me to make another mistake,
Waiting to put up with me quitting too soon one more time,
Waiting to turn every “right” I do into one more “wrong.”
Waiting to tell me how to do better,
Waiting for me to spill my tears and share my woes,
Waiting to tell me my misery is my own fault,
Waiting to badger me about how I fail to respect it,
Waiting to ignore my feelings in favor of its words,
Waiting to taunt me with unsettling silence,
Waiting to remind me why it should be number one in my life,
Waiting to tell me it’s okay to be without friends and lovers.

I can fill it with dreams,
Dreams others might think foolish or immature.
Meanwhile, it threatens me with nightmares,
Nightmares others may simply say are part of life.
This matter can not be resolved with sex or drug use.
A one night stunt won’t make the troubles go away.
And, violence is out of the question.

It may not be the worst.
But, it gets its share of negative looks and gossip.
It may not be the most spacious or comfortable.
But, it’s currently free.

For all its worth, the tempting covers are laced with poison.
The frame likes to stick me in the back when my guard is down.
It changes when I expect consistency and reassurance.
It picks at my confidence and robs me of trust.
And, it often makes a terrible sound to disturb my slumber.

Still, I sleep in this bed…alone.
I doubt anyone would want…choose to share it.
A sickness creeps into my gut.
I have a choice.
But, the options are just as daunting and uncertain.

There’s a bed waiting for me,
Surrounded by menacing laughter and potential booby traps.
I can hardly rest with both eyes closed.
And, when morning comes, I struggle to plan my escape.


~Writingbolt, 7-30-2014