My Writer's Cramp Pieces

I Couldn't Sleep

Writer's Cramp -- The New Prompt is:
You have been awake for three days...what do you do to finally go to sleep?

I Couldn't Sleep

It started out when I drank coffee after noon. That Monday I needed to stay up late. I did.

All night long my eyes bonded eyelash to brow in wide-opened startlement, but I got my work done. In the morning my eyes sagged and red hues painted the whites.

Unfortunately, although I drank no more coffee past my noon deadline, my eyes retaliated. They refused to close that evening. My body wilted, my legs quivered with restlessness, but I was still wired. I accomplished nothing that night. My mind wandered, leaping bushes and barrels, careening a bit as if drunk.

In the morning, stiff from my night of sitting, I realigned my backbone and showered away the pain. Then I drank down black coffee, needing its magic formula. From its sustenance I was propelled out the door. I can’t remember driving to work. The trip slid by me like the trees and buildings I assume I passed.

My words were slow and sparse that day, my patience inexhaustible. I was too tired for anger. I coasted through the rising noise-level of the classroom. During recess I found myself correcting the same paper over and over. I put it aside and drank a bottle of water.

The day stretched into elongated sections, each one tugging at my eyelids. Yet, I resisted, my driving motivation a mantra: “Wait ‘til I get home."

But that night when I lay in my bed, the sleep that had seemed desirous wouldn’t come. I tossed about and felt sympathy for the princess and her irritating pea. My bed felt full of them. The clock played tricks on me. Each time I looked, the hands hadn’t moved. I threw my pillow at the wall and got up to write a story.

The night was long. Around 5:00 a.m. my brain finally slowed down and begged for the comfort of bed. But by then it was too late. I showered in hot and cold water for double my usual time.

Badly needing a cup of coffee, I ignored the shakes and drank grapefruit juice instead. My mouth puckered in distress, but it helped me to co-ordinate my differing shades of black socks with pants and shirt. A new day of sunshine peered through the haze of my reddened eyes. I blinked and wore sunglasses.

I must have flown to work. It was instantaneous. I woke to find myself peeking into my mailbox at school. Was it really Wednesday?

I dragged my way through the day. The children talked, explaining mathematics solutions. I closed my eyes to better concentrate. The children’s giggles made me open them. Had I slept? I was unsure. The clock still refused to move.

My elbow bolstered me. Its hand attached at the top seemed the perfect, pillowed softness. I fell into its luxurious comfort.

“Teacher, teacher, no elbows on the table!”

I remembered how to smile, just barely.

During afternoon recess, I put my head down on the table. Children streamed in for a ball or a drink from their water bottle. “Are you sick?” they wanted to know.

I mumbled various replies but didn’t raise up my head. The bell rang too quickly.

Morning fog had filled the room. My eyes stung. I took the students out for PE. The cool air slapped my face, but my feet dragged.

I skipped two meetings after school and headed home. Once more the drive was lost to scattered memories. The news mentioned snow. I was miraculously transplanted to Kansas where I stood before my old blue-green Datsun truck, a handheld dryer aimed at its motor. That truck never started without warming.

My exit jarred me out of Kansas. I blinked, turned, and waited for the light to change.

“The weather in Santa Barbara tomorrow will be . . .”

Ah. Ocean waves bobbed about with the tide. The surf tickled my toes. Sand sucked me outward. Sea gulls soared, squawking plaintive cries, and children sat, creating Hearst Castles from moistened sand and plastic spoons.

The light changed, and I drove on, concentrating hard to keep my thoughts on the drive home. My foot argued that it was too tired to lift up. It took great effort to keep going. I felt like the car had stopped, and I was running. My legs had turned into wheels. I leaned forward to keep them rolling, rolling, rolling.

I sighed heavily when I pulled into my driveway. I hardly petted the cat. Still fully clothed, I dropped onto my bed, hugging the pillow.

The clock growled. The water in the bathroom dripped. The refrigerator digested, making disgusting gurglings and burping noises. “Meow, meow,” sang the cat. I ignored them all and kept my eyes shut. The cat jumped up and crept forward, pouncing on the rise and fall of the blankets that covered me. I attempted to ignore her, but she swatted my nose with a sheathed paw and then licked my face.

Ack! I jumped up and fled to the bathroom. Cold medicine. That’s what I needed. That green syrup drink would send me to dreams. I hunted through my cupboard, but I couldn’t find any.

Restlessly, I fixed a cup of cocoa and sat in my comfortable chair. A wave of sleep swept over me. I nodded, sagging. The phone rang. It was my mother.

That night I could not sleep again. Two more stories were added to my port.

At 5:00 am, I looked in the mirror. My eyes looked alcoholic. My face was aged and wane. I looked awful. Obligingly, I called in sick. Then I silenced the phone, put the cat in the garage, and crawled into bed. The blankets were cold, but I soon warmed them up. That morning the sun rose without me.