I jolt from a deep sleep. Again.
Intently, with heart pounding, I listen to the night for the noise, for anything that warranted a shock from unconscious to wakefulness but I hear nothing. Again. Now I’m awake. But I’m sleepy too and the brain begins churning. Because it just can’t seem to stop.
There is a stirring at my feet, as the cat sighs, snuggles in deeper in the chill. I feel the internal warmth begin and I push back the blanket. Stick out a leg. The sweat rises on my face slightly and although I’m hot, my flesh is cold in the night. It passes. I pull the blanket back on. My husband breathes quietly. Evenly. I’m glad he sleeps soundly. The wind hits the window, angry in it’s late Winter rampage. The air in the room feels cold and the furnace is silent.
The boy bangs the wall in his room across the hall as he turns in his too-small bed, and I think yet again that we need to get him something larger.
I think of the soreness in my shoulder that kept my workout the night before to a minimum. I think of the painful lump in my chest that scares me to pieces and the doctor visit in the morning and why something that’s likely no big deal has such power over me. But then, it could be a big deal. My heart races as the thoughts consume me and I pray for peace, feeling it wash over me. I’m thankful for Him.
I think of the Hoya plants in my sunroom, with the aphids that I can’t get rid of, and that I’ll likely have to throw them out and start over with new plants. Tiny new plants to raise. I can’t even recall how long I’ve had them. Longer than my near 19-year old child has been alive. No soap, no washing, no nothing relieves them of their pest. They tentatively begin a new leaf growth, only to be attacked by the tiny yellow bugs, forcing them to stay as they are. They can’t be happy.
I think about Pinterest and how I hate it. How a simple website can drive inferior feelings in to me harder than any words could ever do. I think of longing and want, and how so many ‘pin’ things to boards instead of seeking them to pin to their very hearts. To keep forever. They gaze at photos, dream of ideas, places, stuff stuff stuff. We all need less stuff.
I think of my friends. My saving Grace. Love pours through my tired soul. They fill me up and I could never explain how. Or why.
I think of the dust that settles in my home. The cleaning I hate to do. I think of the chores of daily life and the days that I struggle with taking care of myself and taking care of my life. I hate how they pull me in opposite ways. I hate how I simply turn my back on both, sometimes and disappear. In a magazine. In my blog reader. Seeking the pins for my heart that I can’t find.
I think of glorious food. And I think of un-glorious food. That which feeds my body and those not so great items that feed a part of me that still scrambles for a foothold in my life. The past. The present. One life of excess that lives no longer against the means of health and wellness that I know supports my 49 years so much better. My mind knows. My heart knows. My stomach has refused to forget.
I have no idea how long I’ve been awake. But I’m not awake and I’m not asleep. I wait, hoping for the warm drowsy feel to begin coursing through me, pushing me back to unconsciousness. I start to think about coffee and I want to get up and make a pot. It’s 4:30am. The furnace kicks in, barking back the cold wind outside and a few moments later, a quiet ‘Meow’ breaks the silent night. I can get this one to snuggle down and relax, as it’s too early to wake Mike but the furnace is the calling card that tells this feline that morning has come. He climbs on my chest, purring and lays down. His heavy weight is soothing, purring a rhythmic rise and fall that hypnotizes me, his breath falling against my chin and the drowsiness begins.
We both doze. We both wake. He moves to my legs, draping his 16 pounds down, pressing me to the mattress, helping me even though he doesn’t know it, and we both sleep again.
When Mike finally rouses to the more insistent ‘Good morning!’ meows, I ask him to close the bathroom door against the rising morning. I need to sleep. It’s my morning to sleep as late as I want. And after the nights’ ruminations, I need this. He closes the door and escorts the cats downstairs to begin their day.
The sleep washes over me and I’m out.