I have discovered that, if I go to bed earlier, my night time break comes earlier. I went to bed shortly after sunset, and woke at this moment, just 5 hours before dawn. I know. 5 hours.
Therapy was good yesterday, although I cried some. That's how I know it was good.
Eventually, my sleep schedule will return to normal, and I will be well. Today is the day I go to the neurologist, about my head pain and headaches. I am not so much nervous, as I would like some answers. I will let you know how that goes.
The grass is wet, but the stars are out. I know because the dog, Max, decided to pee at this early hour. It amuses me to oblige him; I have no desire to 'make him hold it' all night. Especially since the unicorn meat eating cats can go anytime they like...and so can I, for that matter.
I liked seeing the stars again. My Dad was a big star gazer, and he passed that on to both of his children. He talked the neighbors out of installing an enormous night light, so that he could see the stars better. I am against light pollution myself. There is no reason to light up the night, unless you live in Vegas.
I suppose, in the 'burbs, people fear burglars, but really. In this smallish city, there is just not that much dangerous going on at night. We are still a small town, flanked by 2 smaller towns. There are lots of trees, wherever I drive or look. There are even trees downtown. I can stand at any point in this small city, and see an ocean of trees. The city combs the streets for the weeds and small trees that grow, and plants flowers and bushes, and all sorts of more trees. It is a pleasant valley, tucked into a bowl, where the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoahs meet. It is a small loop, in the Appalachians...
I like to pick out Orion, in the night sky. It is so easily identifiable. It's nice to know that many people have picked it out, over the years. But before I plunge into nostalgia: I feel faintly wicked waking in the middle of the night, to claim my own time. I feel evil, and it is hours before I take my meds. On the other hand, I hurt no one but a pot of coffee, although I do wreck my treatment. And I count, to me.
Why did I cry, in therapy? I have an unpleasant task to perform, a distasteful course to hold, and I feel weak. I miss my Mother and Dad who were my own cheering section. For them, I felt brave, and able to handle any challenge. Always, my first reaction is: "Forget it. Just Do It." I am not one for conversation, once a course is plotted. But therapy is all about making conversation and communication clear, so that everyone is on the same page. This is not my strong point, and so, I feel weak, and unable to handle my task.
But I have a source of strength. Today is a day for the field, out in the sunlight. Purple chicory grows, and Queen Anne's Lace, one of my favorites from childhood. There are day lilies, orange, on the edge of the stream. The grasses are green, with patches of gold. The rocks in the creek are blue grey. Moss grows outside my door, and violets' leaves. I love the quiet nature of moss, don't you? I wait for the pink geranium to bloom again, and the red. Meanwhile, the impatiens and the blue hydrangea explode, next to my door. On the other side of the doorway, the begonia spill from the ceramic milk churn, and the sand colored pot that was one of my Mother's favorites.
Georgia, a flower of a cat, grey and peach, lays on my arm. She has been trying to find a good place to perch for 2 hours, now...time to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment