Diary, Prose Poems

When I should be getting ready for bed

When I should be getting ready for bed, I am talking on the phone and agreeing with my boyfriend about the improbability of my ever having a conversion to any organized religion, I am washing my supper dishes, I am trying to remember the words to Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits as sung by The Indigo Girls, I am watering my Devil’s Ivy, I am emptying the garbage cans, I am wondering if tonight is the night I should knock on my upstairs neighbours’ door to talk with them about the bangs and thumps on the floors that keep me awake on weeknights at this time, I am reading Rolf Fjelde’s introduction to Ibsen’s The Wild Duck and thinking particularly about this line in a paragraph on the signifcance of the bisected set—we have modern man, on average, as intrinsically self-divided, split between the unremitting pressures of a utilitarian existence and that more remote, rich and strange plenitude of life sensed to be beyond the daily struggle for survival—I am thinking that it would be nice to dwell in that rich and strange plenitude more often, I am thinking that sleep is a type of rich and strange plenitude, I am brushing my teeth, I am writing this post for my blog, I am resisting going to bed because, like Grover in The Monster at the End of this Book, I am avoiding what brings me closer to the alarm clock going off at 5:30 am, I am remembering the words and images I read this morning about monsters in Lynda Barry’s dream-like illustrated book What It Is, I am looking at pictures from my recent vacation with my boyfriend in Nova Scotia, I am smiling, I am melting my heart, I am turning off the lights, I am going to the bedroom and putting on my nightclothes, and I am going to bed, I am sleeping, I am drifting in another world, I am floating & serene, I am never the same way again.

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