DAY 25: this week i did absolutely nothing exciting

i worked. i played a little piano. i started reading a new book that i actually bought. (i never buy books. i WANT to buy books. but my budget is cruel and unrelenting and focused towards more expensive goals...like travelling.) and i started making some more journals. (more on that later.)

i baked some pumpkin and looked up a midwifery school. i pondered whether to post my forceful and probably-not-politically-correct post on feminism. i watched an entire season of The Big Bang Theory which is my guilty pleasure show. and i laugh way too hard at it.

i made sure that every time i walked down the sidewalk i kicked the leaves and enjoyed their crunching. i gaped at the frost-glazed trees and the fog bank that is usually much larger this time of year, but had just missed our house. i was disappointed at this.

i looked up Albanian food. it looks lovely. lots of flaky doughs and meat and cabbagey fillings and BAKLAVA. (i have to figure out how to do this gluten free) so that stuff is on the list.

i made sorbet (strawberry and mango) which was really good. oh, and meatloaf.

but this week, other than these things, has been rather quiet. that quietness that comes, not before the storm, but three weeks later when nothing has happened for a while, and you start to think that nothing will ever happen again. its that quiet when you've been walking for a long time and haven't really gotten anywhere. anywhere remarkable, that is. its that quiet right in the middle of everything that makes you tired enough to just lay down and take a nap. its the kind of quiet that comes from everyone watching you to see if you will go through the door. the problem is...do you even see it? its right in front of you. you've gotten somewhere, but you don't see it. you just need to overcome that one last obstacle. go through the door.

Sleepless in ......... Musical Montana

So, I'm playing the music for Young Frankenstein the Musical. My town has a little playhouse, and volunteers go to be actors, stagehands, directors, musicians, costume people, etc., etc., etc.

And guess who got roped into "volunteering"?  

That's right...I did.

Let's just say that by the time I get back from practice, ready myself for slumber, and say goodnight to Mom and Dad, it's WAY past my bedtime. I'm not complaining. It's great fun, this musical. But it does result in late evenings and the music is like caffeine for me.

Now I know why no one drinks coffee at 9:00 p.m.

Anyway, while I lay in bed trying valiantly to turn my brain off, I usually get some pretty good poetry/writing inspiration. This is what I came up with last night, as I was trying to...well...catch sleep.

Ironic, isn't it? That one would write a poem about catching sleep while they were trying to catch........never mind. I'll just give you the poem.

Enjoy!

     Catching Sleep

     Darkness fills the air.

     I create a cocoon around me

     with blankets

     and burrow my face in the hollow.

     I breath hot air and

     wait for sleep to take me

     for a walk

     like it does every night.

     It sits there,

     waiting,

     but whenever I reach out

     to take it, it

     scampers

     away

     And I am left

     with nought

     but a handful of darkness.

     I reach for it again,

     but it dances away

     and perches on the

     branch of a memory.

     I crash into it,

     wanting so badly for sleep

     that I've lost

     all coordination.

     But still sleep eludes me.

     Always just beyond my grasp,

     blending with shadows,

     waiting for me to catch it.

     My mind spins circles.

     It only wants rest.

     Just when I collapse into

     that void

     between

     consciousness

     and

     oblivion

     sleep pounces.

     And it catches me.

     I must remember that.

     To sleep, one must be

     vulnerable-

     catchable-

     prey-

     because sleep is a huntress,

     waiting for the next exhausted soul

     to sleep.