This torment should not be called insomnia. Insomnia sounds sweet, like ambrosia, that drink of the Greek gods. That's the stuff that made you immortal, right? Which actually is what you sort of feel, with desperation, around 2:30 in the morning. Maybe this night will last forever. Maybe I will be awake forever.
I suffered from inflammation of the somniatic sac last night. That's sounds more accurate. Or maybe somnitis, somnitosis. Something with pain.
Laura saw it coming, which made it worse. T'ai was visiting from New York, and had borrowed the car to drive to Mystic for a wedding. He texts, around 10:00: They have booked some hotel rooms for out-of-towners, so I may stay. Okay, we say. Have fun! Then, soon thereafter: I think I will come home, but will be late.
Laura thinks, uh oh, but types in my falsely chipper dictation: Okay, sweetie. Be careful. See you in the morning!
How late can late be, right? I stay late at a party and it's...well, gee, I don't stay late at a party. But parties tend to end by 9:30 anyway, I think. Maybe 10:00 when things are really on a roll.
He must be about to leave, then.
He must be about to leave by now.
He must have left by now.
He must be on the road.
Maybe he has been hit by a drunk driver.
Maybe the car exploded and they can't find our address anywhere.
How will I ever survive without T'ai?
What is wrong with me? Sometimes parties go until midnight!
He must be about to leave.
It's 1:30. I will text him so I don't wake Laura. T'ai, ignore my earlier lecture about texting and driving, and just send one character or letter to let me know you are okay.
Hm. 1:33, 1:37, 1:41. I will check for his response less often. 1:47. 1:48. Oops.
My ancestor must have been the one that paced at the entrance of the cave until everyone came back safely from the hunt. I'm just going to go look at the horizon one more time. Save my place on this bed of leaves, woudja? I'm sure she was a nice person, but sometimes it feels like all she passed me was that funky BRCA gene and this anxiety.
2:25. Here comes T'ai! Thank God, thank God, thank God.
I wonder if he closed the garage door.
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Worry thy name is p. Glad he got home safely. Jewish mothers and Chinese American mothers seem to have some common attributes. I hope tonight's sleep will be a sweeter drink than last night's!
ReplyDeleteIrish mothers, too! At least this Irish-American mother! We are all blood sisters under our skins.
ReplyDeleteMother anxiety is a special kind of torture, a price we pay for the miracle and joy of giving and sustaining life.
Sweet dreams tonight, Ladies!
Good heavens! I thought I was reading m own thoughts on a nightly basis.
ReplyDeleteAdd to this the increased heart pounding when the text is not answered and the little, but increasingly pounding internal thunder of... " how much longer before I call the police to check for reported accidents? I know our address is on the license, but will they get the phone number?"
And then, the lights come up the driveway at 2 am and suddenly the fears of an accident on the road become those of pre-meditated murder for not responding to my text!!!!!!!
It calls itself ‘The Lost Book of Remedies’ and thousands of copies have been sold. Let’s see what this ‘lost book’ is all about… insomnia
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