Insomnia has become a late night friend.
We silently chatter over plans to be made and odd feelings in my body that hold no weight in the light of day.
We dissect the invisible meaning between words and spaces where sleep used to call my name.
We share a giggle or two over the days antics and consider further potential antics for when the sun rises.
An ever present friend and companion, and yet I wish I could let it go.
If it were that easy, I would not still have the insomnia.
Perhaps I need to handle it as a shadow of self, give it a secret name, invite it to tea, and honor it with a notebook of all the things it whispers to me.
Stay present. Something is coming. Be ready. Catch the emergency before it emerges. Something is unsafe. Stay present.
Would it help or hurt to record the urges of my neither-brain for the review of my fully conscious self?
I won’t know until I try it out.















