I made the mistake of waking up, not in the act itself, but when I did it.
It was 5 AM, and although I often wake up at that time, it's usually followed by a pilgrimage to the kitchen and then going back to bed to finish the rest of the night.
Tonight, or more properly this morning, I'm taking care of a friend's dog while she is out of town. So, although I slept here for a lot of years, this is now not my environment. Sleep once broken can be precarious in its reclaimation.
I'm waiting for the sun to come up - I'm not walking the dog in the dark. The blue light of a screen is keeping me company. Such a range of pieces, emotions, and perspectives. It reminds me of the scene where Neo visits the architect, and the screens in the background are playing out a range of reactions.
I read a piece that made me admire the ability of a women to put herself first, to lay out what she wants. I should ask her if she would run me through a mentor program, I think I'm half-assing life sometimes.
My ward for a few days is, however, in her own environment and had no problems getting back to sleep. She is laying, snorting and breathing like a truffle hound, under the coffee table I built years back. It's a reminder, like so many things, that this was once home. Little pieces I made to fit a need at the time, small changes. A cofee table here, an island in the kitchen there - and the walls.
When I got here almost two decades ago, the walls were grey. Grey... it can be a nice color and I have a few rooms painted that color at my weekend place, but here was just too small to carry the weight of the color. So we repainted a pale green, opened the space up, added some light.
Green is supposed to be a relaxing color, and I suppose it is, although my personal color palette has shifted. I still love a sage green, but these days I'm blending in more lavender for some reason - and blacks in my clothing.
Maybe I preparing for an after life without an after life, when everything fades to black when that is the last tool in the directors tool kit to provide a closing without having to do the work for it; but isn't that just what the end is when all is said and done?
So, here I sit, wide awake at now 6:30 in the morning. Mug of tea on the coffee table, texting a friend who is living 9:30 PM, unable to talk as I'm suffering an absence of voice. I'm looking around at some of the things that haven't changed, while I sit here in the skin that has.
I am no longer the person that lived here. No longer the person that ate at the table, made love in the bed, argued, cried, shouted or laughed here. But there are so many echoes, so many reminders and I can't help stepping back in time. And then tomorrow, I will be gone from here - again, but without the frustration and disappointment of the first time I was gone from here almost a decade ago.
Life is often sliced into befores and afters, but sometimes the lines don't stay sharp, we find ways to blur them. I'm not sure if that is healthy or not. I suppose it depends on the cirucmstances, and honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm sure if I were unhappy about it, then I'd do something to change it, although I think I need an idea of what I actually want in order to do that.
Or, am I just stuck replaying the same record over and over, and calling the movement of the needle back to the outer edges of the disc good enough, until everything fades to black one last time.
~ Em
