SLEEPLESS IN NOVEMBER
Woke up at three o'clock sharp. The television was about to call it a night in front of my closed eyes. I stared into the fading blue screen, wide awake. Turned aroud. No husband. He was probably safely snoring away down below.
Our tenant was busy going to and fro for an hour or so, ringling with his keys, opening his car, his front door, his loo. The storm was even more disturbing, rattling dead leaves about in the frontyard, shaking the tree's branches against the wall. Noises in the attick. Were mice holding a Thanksgiving feast over my head?
Three books in my bed, "The dark heart of Italy", "Bitch" and "Bestseller" failed to distrackt my thoughts from the uneasy present.
Tried my oldest trick: Which outfit to wear for the morning event. I composed three variations: Black high heeled boots, bluejeans, black wool jumper, long ivory pearl necklace, black and white blazer and a light black velvet cape with matching leather gloves and a big Mulberry copy bag to go. Black and white tweed cap topping the costume. Notice, I have not described underwear. Similar work in dark brown leather shades and finally the favourite based on my rich camelhaired cappuccino overcoat.
My brain was overheated, would not, could not relax.
The light on and off, into the kitchen for a banana, in case I unawaringly should be hungry.
Bach organ playing comfortly on the radio. At least three Pater Nosters.
No sleep, no order in my head, just a merry-go-round of unimportant details not to be forgotten.
All because I am to be escorting my mother to hospital in less than two hours.
Wish us luck