Hope
A normal night of rest is a blessing.
I need a deeper, stronger word than this. Some word to describe the depth of gratitude I feel when I wake up and realize I spent the night in bed. That I didn’t get up to pee just because I was up and might as well make use of the wakefulness anyway. The sense of relief in my body as I realize I have actually given it the rest it needed. The lack of tension in my head as I feel the energy of quiet possibilities, rather than the tension of weariness.
Feeling exhausted is my normal
It seems easier to describe a sleepless night than a rested one. I’ve had a lot of practice with the words – drained, frustrated, angry, depleted, alone, desperate, agony. Lots of middle of the night adjectives and adverbs. Heavy, plodding weighted words that keep me company on the 3 a.m. prowl as I push into the keyboard hoping to outweigh the persistent need to sleep.
A night of rest is foreign
The lightness of rest-filled morning surprises me. The smoothness of muscles in my neck. The lack of tightness in my belly. My cup of coffee is welcome entry to the morning, rather than a desperate step to wakefulness. As I attempt to explain the joy of a rested night, I use comparisons to a difficult one. So long, I have existed in that state of numb functioning.
So long it has been normal, the pathway to possibilities is blocked by unfamiliarity.
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