My memory of the 2010 Chilean mine disaster, during which the world was transfixed by efforts to rescue 33 trapped miners, remains relatively clear in my head. But I have virtually no recollection of the horror of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, in which roughly 230,000 people died. Could the passage of time between those events have erased my memories of the earlier—and far more massive—trauma? Or did I experience some sort of trauma of my own in the intervening years; something that might caused my brain to fail to record my reaction to the tsunami? The sheer enormity of the death toll from the tsunami may be to blame. The memory deficit might have arisen from a thousand reasons. I wish I knew. Or, perhaps, I should be thankful I don’t.
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Once again, a long and deep sleep held me in its grip yesterday afternoon. Around noon, I took a “nap.” I awoke seven hours later. After forcing myself to eat a small meal (with assistance from mi novia) and drink some water, I went back to bed. Though I slipped in and out of sleep during the night, I was in bed—mostly asleep—for another ten hours, more or less. Sleep seems to have become my refuge from…everything. Though I complain about it, sleeping insulates me from a world that increasingly appears intent on destroying serenity, calmness, gentleness, human decency, and goodness in general. I think I would rather sleep than eat, drink water, sit upright, walk, engage in conversation, and otherwise do what people do. I tell myself all of this will eventually be behind me. I just want to sleep through it.
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Pea soup fog allows me to see only the nearest trees in the forest this morning. Even they are grey and blurry. Beyond them, some of their companions are just slightly darker smudges against an indistinct background. More distant, the fog hides the rest of the world in a translucent grey shroud. Mi novia and I will venture out into the fog in a while. She will go first, taking the cat for day-boarding so the newly-enlisted housecleaner can do her work without feline interference. Then, mi novia and I will wade into the vaporous gloom for a while to be out of the way. I suspect I might drift off to sleep, while reclining in her car’s heated seats. I would prefer that to being conscious of my gurgling gut and its accompanying unpleasant aches. We shall see.
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Before I began my marathon nap yesterday, my sister-in-law came by with some champagne. We ate apple pie she had made for me (with ice cream) and I sipped on just a tad of bubbly. It tasted delightful, but I did not want more than a little. That was our Christmas celebration, jazzed up by mi novia, who lit some festive, twinkling lights. No tree (courtesy of the cat’s tendency to explore and the fact that decorations that are put up must come down later and be wrapped and stored).
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This morning’s blog post arose from a sense of obligation to myself. I intend to train myself to get over that. I did not feel much like writing today; henceforth, I hope to listen to myself and simply decide not to write when I feel that way.
