Saturday, December 17, 2005

Scrap of night

2:14 a.m. Steady rain. West wind. The sky is grey-pink. I open the windows and balcony door, prowl around the place on bare feet. I drink warm milk.

My nervous system has its signals scrambled. These are not sleep chemicals, brain. And it’s night. Could you check the labels in the dispensary? See what neurons are misfiring?

Awake well before dawn this morning, I’d gone to bed at 10:00 p.m. Something like sleep occurs, something like, but not exactly like dreaming occurs. Formless clamor. Random memories mill around in my brain anxiously, like dogs who need to go for a walk right now.

I suspect the wind is bearing messages, whispering something I can almost hear. Pay attention. But I can’t quite make it out.

If there’s an alpha memory dog who’s stirring up the pack, I can’t identify him.

Not even the hour of the wolf. Hour of the dogs. These are not bright dogs, motivated dogs. These are just restless dogs, mutts scratching fleas, mutts with hopeful eyes and Frisbees in their mouths, standing at the door, wagging their tails. Memory dogs with their noses open to the west wind.

And I remember a time when I took sleep for granted. Although one of the dogs is chewing the upholstery on that.


Koru's Daughter said...

I love the memory dogs!

Here are some of mine:
The Dachshund of obsession
The Jack Russell terrier of guilt
The Labrador Retriever of trauma (a new definition of PTSD?)
The baying pack of Beagles of victimization
The Great Dane of revenge
The Rottweiler of self-pity
The Lhasa Apso of betrayal
The Shar Pei of shame

Every time I round these guys up and drop them at the pound, they do one of those incredible journeys and find the way back.

If only it were the cats of memory. At least they don't roam in a pack.

LJ said...

Well yeah. But they'd eat your face while you were sleeping!

Teri said...

Love the canine characterizations, both of you!