Awakening

The ambient light filtered through my bedroom windows in the dark of the early morning. A street light and a lone outdoor light fought the darkness not far from the corner of my house. To my gaping irises, the light seemed impossibly bright, enough to give shape to the furniture in the bedroom.

I raised my wrist toward my face and my watch brightened displaying the time: 3:10 A.M. Normally, I’d be in deep sleep at this time, but my brain had things to say and it wanted an audience. I tried to shush it, but it kept insisting that these words could not wait. I turned one way and then another as if the position of my body would lull my brain to some semblance of sleep, but it remained adamant that I listen. A few more tosses and turns made me wonder if I should get up and start my day, but my body pleaded with me to stay put.

I rolled over on my back and stared up at the subtle glow on my ceiling. Shadows played across its screen rippling like the tiny waves from a pebble thrown into a calm lake. My brain had my attention. The words flowed. I don’t know if my slumber made them more than what they were, but as I listened, they sounded elegant and enthralling. The first stanza in a song or the first chapter in a book. I held the words in my hands. They felt soft and warm, comforting. My brain continued to chatter until the first pages became very clear.

I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed debating whether to go downstairs to my office and type the words I saw in my head. Instead, I trudged to the bathroom. Maybe I did drink too much coffee before bed, or maybe this was my body’s way of interrupting my brain. No doubt the rest of me is passive-aggressive.

I dragged my feet across the carpet toward my bed and returned to the warmth of its heavy covers. My brain still screamed for an audience. I promised that I’d do something in the proper morning, not at this ungodly hour. We argued. I won, and eventually I fell back asleep.

When I awoke again, the words still pressed against my skull begging to be released. My brain stood, hands on hips, eyes rolling at me as if to say “I told you so.” First, I started the coffee. Then, I put the words on the page. They flowed like water from a faucet, smooth and even. The page filled up, and my brain exhaled relief. The words needed to be freed from the confines of my head. Now, they have a life of their own unencumbered my sleep preferences.

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