Every two hours, like clockwork, I awaken. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve been going to bed early that sets the mental alarm clock: 11:30, 1:30, 3:30. By 3:30, it’s almost pointless to go back to bed, because I know I’ll be up even before the next biological alarm goes off. But I try, only to hear the “beep, beep, beep” of a garbage truck backing up about an hour later. I get up to explore what is making the sound in the middle of the night. I look out the window to see a large cargo plane being pushed, backward toward me, by a compact truck. I am confused by seeing the plane and the tarmac outside my window. The confusion is interrupted when my arm gets caught in the sheet. The sound and the plane and the tarmac were elements of a dream that had no other components. I have no explanation for that dream. So I ignore it and get up. The clock says 4:13. I am up for the duration.
If I close my eyes now, I think I will fall asleep at the desk. Though I’ve been getting sleep every night for the past week, sleep has come in packets of varying length, mostly shorter than I’d like. I’ve gone through almost two cups of coffee so far, which have enabled me to stay awake long enough to read and watch BBC.com and to read a few Aljazeera pieces. I’ve read the latest on the Nashville RV bomb, despite wanting to avoid knowing what happened. It’s almost 6:00 now and I don’t think I can keep my eyes open another minute. Time for a break or a nap or a lengthy sleep.
I decided to take an early morning nap. I was awakened by the telephone nearly two hours later, around 7:45; my sister-in-law called to check on me because I hadn’t responded to her text message. It’s just after 8 now, and she’s on her way over. I will have another cup of coffee and attempt to restart the day. This is a completely new experience, waking to brilliant sun. It’s like I have wasted half the day.