sleep

Derailed

 

 The rhythm of life can be disrupted by many things. My arrhythmia came about by lack of sleep.

 

The first or second week of May, in a sleep deprived stupor, I nearly hit a train. This was no metaphorical iron horse breathing the hot breath of mortal visions, but a real locomotive. I wasn’t stuck on the tracks or trying to beat the guard arms, no I just nearly rammed into the side of a moving CSX freight car because my brain was running on the memory of my Serta.

June found me working three straight weeks of 7pm to 5am shifts and attending an accelerated five week semester, studying Intro to Literary Theory (I never again want to read Heart of Darkness or see “Apocalypse Now”.), and doing a massive overhaul of my home. On more than one occasion, I woke to sunlight streaming through my car window either in the work parking lot or in front of my home. Very disconcerting to say the least.

 

Life was moving in pudding. Something had to give and, like our so wise government always seems to choose, the first thing to go was the Arts. Writing, outside of horribly constructed critical papers for school, was out. Photography reduced to glossed over gazing at Bashert’s beautiful shots. The summer reading books remained hostage in the bottom of my book bag.

 

Things began to flow again when one of my fellow gatekeepers returned to the office a couple of weeks ago giving me time relief and Maymester closed giving me brain relief (I earned a B in my lit class – always makes me wonder if an A would be in the works if the only thing on my list was school). My family has been gracious enough to allow me to sleep in even though on occasion Yoda was busting at the seams to get me up and going. I’ve only passed out in the driveway once in the last two weeks.

 

So, hopefully my sinus rhythm is returning to normal. I took a quick opportunity to step outside and snaps some photos today and if I can keep this up I will finish this little article. I’ve started it many times in the last few days. I’m going to catch up on all the Weekly Photo Challenges that I can. “Today” sort of loses its freshness when taken several weeks after the “today” of the assignment, but philosophically speaking it’s always today, so…

 

For those of you who so nicely signed up to follow the blog, I thank you for hanging in and not deleting my link while I was MIA. For those of you who have stopped by and left comments, I thank you also; I will answer and acknowledge the time you took to visit. I have one day planned to catch up on all the wonderful blog writings and photography I have missed these weeks.

 

Blogosphere, here I come, cross my heart.

 

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Tourette’s in the Night

Tourette’s in the night exclaiming cuss words

Wondering in the night

What were the chances I’d be hearing “f*ck!”

Before the night was through

Something in your voice was so unnerving

Something in your smile was so disturbing

Something in my heart told me I must wake you

Tourette’s in the night, two sleepy people

We were dozing in the night

Up to the moment when you said your first “G-d damn!”

Little did we know

Swears were just a nod away

A warm and cozy nap away

And ever since that night you had your surg’ry

Moaning words not right, in mixed company

It turned out so bright for Tourette’s in the night

*Sung to the tune Strangers in the Night with apologies to Charles Singleton & Eddie Snyder

First Lines

Last night before turning in , I was served up a site that challenges one to come up with a story in one line (www.onesentence.org). There are some great ones on there, check it out.

Anyway, this set my mind off on a tangent, as it is wont to do and I got to thinking of the first line, “It was a dark and stormy night…”. Many don’t realize these are the actual words from the 1830 novel Paul Clifford, by Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton.

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents – except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

Baron Lytton also gave us “the unwashed masses” & “the pen is mightier than the sword”, but I digress.

My mind was churning with the now melodramatic language and when I woke in the wee hours of the morning random lines kept popping into my head. I offer but a few here:

Zoos, as a whole, bothered me.

She hated plastic bags.

She smiled as the exhaust choked the pretentious bastard in the convertible
behind her.

The curve of her hips reminded him of the smooth swerve of ice cream carved
out by a spoon.

He was right, I’d never seen one before.

Who knew that an elephant can’t jump?

There is a precipice at the edge of sanity.

It was a childhood dream come true and she wished she could wake up.

And the dish ran away with the moon, what’s up with that?

George continued to stare wondering how on Earth it got there.

Now if I could just get the second sentences going, I might have a chance in The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. (www.bulwer-lytton.com)