Never underestimate the power of a foul autumn wind.
Of course here in California, where half the state burned down last year close to this time, we are very aware of what a wind can do. But I’ve got other stories–there was the time school’s opening had been delayed by construction, and the advent of the first progress reports–mostly bad–coincided with a foul autumn wind, dry and destructive and full of negative ions.
We found ourselves wandering around a muttering crowd of angry students–not just in one area like the quad or the cafeteria, but the entire student body as it transitioned from fifth to sixth period. We were all looking them in the eyes and calling them by name and telling them to get back to their rooms because there was a dangerous vibe coming from the earth itself and rumbling through the soles of our shoes.
But those are extreme examples.
Right now, it’s just… insomnia.
The cold, the wind, the aridity–Mate is having trouble sleeping.
Last night, he woke up three times, once talking to people who weren’t there. It wasn’t anything demonic like, “Let’s kill her while she’s at her computer!” It was more mundane, like, “What about the car?” (Totaled by the way. He’s looking for a new one.) But that was once. And a “Wha? Wha?” was twice.
The whimper was my cue to just ditch what I was working on and go lay down and read. I had to keep getting up– the point in staying awake was…?
Well, apparently, it was that I couldn’t go to sleep after reading a murder mystery for two hours. It wasn’t that I was scared so much–no.
Usually when I’m doing something REALLY verbal– writing mostly, but sometimes reading–I need a break from the words before I sleep.
Words and I are too familiar as companions. We will dance, we will play, we will twirl–and we will do it when I sleep.
So I spent last night in a haze of a terrible dream–horror/suspense at it’s best, I suspect–involving a family and a phantom and a bad guy and, because it’s an occupational hazard, I would wager, gay sex.
I don’t know who was gay, or who was having sex, but somebody was, and then there was a ghost and screaming and a new house and scared kids.
It was a whole thing.
And I slept like ASS. Not the good kind of bootylicious ass either.
And Mate and I woke up at five in the morning and talked for half-an-hour and then I went back to sleep and then he took the kids to school and came back and I needed to sign some paperwork so I got up early and…
Well, let’s just say I had to take a helluva nap this afternoon to deal with that entire mishegas.
And tonight?
It doesn’t matter when I go to sleep–I’m remembering to play my stupid little math game on my phone for five minutes so me and words forget each other’s existence for at least six hours.
Because the only sub-genre I haven’t written yet is horror, and I don’t want to start now.
