Writers Write

I Couldn’t Sleep At All Last Night


Without metaphor, yesterday sucked. I depended on people to do the things they said they’d do. Guess what?

Let’s just say, delegating is for Type Bs. I’m not that type.

At 2:30 in the morning I was telling off a random school secretary. I’d like to say, in my dreams, but I wasn’t asleep. No. I was flat on my back listening to the whirr of the ceiling fan over my bed. Bacon snored while I waged war. I folded my arms over my chest and vowed to–

What was I going to do? What could I do? Nothing really. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.

The alarm chirped at 5:30. I dressed and drove Cherry to the pool, willing the wheels to stay on the appropriate side of the road. After delivering everyone where they needed to be, I considered going back to bed. Instead, I leashed the dog and took her to the park.

Into the second mile on a gravel path, I had an epiphany. Well, not really. An epiphany is a lightening bolt. This was milder, more like a shock of static electricity from scooting across the carpet. Anyway, I felt something. The walk helped.

I don’t think it had anything to do with scenery, though the park is a million shades of green right now. I didn’t produce enough endorphins for an exercise high. It wasn’t the titillating company of dog walkers and stroller-pushing mommy joggers.

It was one foot in front of the other, sneakers crunching pink granite, perambulation that mended my broken judgement. That clarified a solution.

Do what I could.

Move on.

Let go.


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