confessional ridiculousness
At about four this morning, I woke up from a dream, and sat up startled, realizing I wasn't "home." The room was cold, the blankets damp from the morning breeze... and I couldn't stop shaking. I tossed and turned on the new mattress, silently cursing it's unbelievable firmness, and finally giving up and walking down the hall to the guest room. I curled up for a few minutes amongst the stacks of sheets and towels still waiting to be put in the linen closet. I have a very difficult time sleeping, as I fear the vulnerability that comes with the cover of night.
I have an especially hard time sleeping with someone else. Back in my earlier dating days, I hated the promise of sharing a bed with someone else - as I knew that I would be awake all night, never finding a way to be comfortable, never feeling "safe". I would fake sleep the way that other women faked orgasms, the deception necessary to avoid the uncomfortable reality of the truth.
I longed for the ability to curl up into someone's arms and feel safe, to feel home. To be able to lay my head into his nook, softly talking about everything and nothing at the same time, gently stroking his chest - and be warmed by his body as I slipped unaware into slumber. In reality, I never cared much for being held when I slept, but I loved the idea. Sophomoric as it may seem, I think it was just that the puzzle pieces didn't quite match. There was always something that was missing, or that was too much. Sleep seems like it should be so simple, and for other people I suppose it is. To me though, in some ways it was even more intimate than sex.
When I find myself in that strange place of being unable to sleep, my mind wanders. A habitual worrier, I think about children starving in Niger, of the decimation of the world's natural resources. And aside from the serious contemplative issues that clog my brain, there are other questions - other issues that have perpetually bothered me since childhood. This morning was one of those mornings.
When I look at a color, and proclaim it's blue - is it really? Or is it just that I have been conditioned to associate that hue with the named color? When you look at it - is it what I would think is green, only green is blue to you?
I have an especially hard time sleeping with someone else. Back in my earlier dating days, I hated the promise of sharing a bed with someone else - as I knew that I would be awake all night, never finding a way to be comfortable, never feeling "safe". I would fake sleep the way that other women faked orgasms, the deception necessary to avoid the uncomfortable reality of the truth.
I longed for the ability to curl up into someone's arms and feel safe, to feel home. To be able to lay my head into his nook, softly talking about everything and nothing at the same time, gently stroking his chest - and be warmed by his body as I slipped unaware into slumber. In reality, I never cared much for being held when I slept, but I loved the idea. Sophomoric as it may seem, I think it was just that the puzzle pieces didn't quite match. There was always something that was missing, or that was too much. Sleep seems like it should be so simple, and for other people I suppose it is. To me though, in some ways it was even more intimate than sex.
When I find myself in that strange place of being unable to sleep, my mind wanders. A habitual worrier, I think about children starving in Niger, of the decimation of the world's natural resources. And aside from the serious contemplative issues that clog my brain, there are other questions - other issues that have perpetually bothered me since childhood. This morning was one of those mornings.
When I look at a color, and proclaim it's blue - is it really? Or is it just that I have been conditioned to associate that hue with the named color? When you look at it - is it what I would think is green, only green is blue to you?
posted by April at 10:28 AM
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