learning to free-write: day four

Tired. So very tired.

I feel it in my bones and in my ears and in the skin under my eyes. It’s foggy and engulfing and thick. I almost forgot to do this today, but just as I pulled my blankets up to my chin like a good little child I remembered my commitment to write. 

Does the act of writing enough times just make me a writer somehow? 

Sure. 

So here we find ourselves in the blackness of my room at night, thumbs typing on the keypad of my iPhone 6, eyes blinded by the by the harsh light of my screen that every other article I read online tells me is bad for my sleep. 

I’d like to see them stop me. I’d like to see anything stop me from my shut eye. Home girl don’t play–it’s 9:15 and I’m going to sleep. If you turn up on a Tuesday, then you must turn wayyy down on a Wednesday because for real, I’m on my way. 

I like my room at night. 

I like my bed at night, and how quiet it is and how I’m allowed to just be without doing something else. There’s nothing expected of me, nothing I’m neglecting, no one looking for me, no one missing it. 

It’s weird to think that someday I’ll (probably) share a space bigger than this twin bed–because for now my bed is a place of solitude and it’s plenty big for me. I hope I get better at sharing because even when I share with a kitten I’m hyper aware that they’re there, burning away like little heated stones inside the curve of my leg, the crook of my arm, the stretch of my neck. I don’t mind, I just notice the difference and I guess maybe I do mind because it keeps me awake. 

Kittens are so small, too. What will I do if a whole person is here? How will I rest when I’m already hyper aware of people during my waking hours? That sounds like a whole level of vulnerability that I’m not ready for. Maybe that’s why it’s so personal, sharing a sleeping space. It’s like, you have to know that person has your back and isn’t going to do something crazy in the night–or cause you to die of a heatstroke from all that body heat. 

This is probably unrelated but I keep thinking of Saul and David for some reason, and what it must have been like for Saul looking across the river at David holding a piece of his robe or whatever and understanding that David was present in that intimacy. When you sleep, you let your guard down and David, in his great mercy, recognized that and let Saul lie. I guess I never really thought of how personal that whole thing probably was until I was this tired in this moment. 

So there you have it. 

David and Saul had some sort of moment together and it was real, I think. 

I also think I definitely need to sleep now, so I’m going to get on that. 

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