Rhythm of the night

There’s a certain rhythm to sleepless nights. I walk back and forth through the house, not really thinking about anything. Listening to the pipes and the hidden under-workings of the house. Listening to my dog snore. Half listening to whatever background noise I have on the television. I pace. I stop and look around. I brush my teeth. I think about Inkwell. I sit down and start to write up plans I have for the group. Then my fingers itch. I get up and pace.

Even though that’s not always my nights, this has become a more frequent occurrence. The pacing. That’s probably what drives me the craziest. I hate doing it. It reminds me of someone I’m none too fond of. Not only that but I feel like I’m wearing away the shine on the floors faster than necessary. I pull my hair out of the ponytail and mess it up, tossing my head about, like I can shake the cobwebs loose. Flip my head up and look around. Nope. They’re all still firmly attached to the insides of my head. I sigh. Not because I want to but simply because there seems to be nothing else to do. I take off my nail polish and reapply. Why? I couldn’t tell you. Even if it was perfect I’d feel the need.

I turn on YouTube and play some music that I find my muse hiding in. I write here and there, nothing really adding up to terribly much other than practice. I want to kiss my muse for entertaining me for yet another night. It however has already found my presence tiresome and has left again. So I sit; starring at an empty word document, the cursor flashing tauntingly at me. ‘C’mon… write something’ it seems to whisper. I grow tired of its taunts and get up. Back to pacing. I stop short this time realizing the idiocy of my movements. I’m irritated with myself in a way that I find disappointing. The thought that if I can’t make myself happy, I’ll never be able to make anyone else happy; floats through my mind before I slap it away. I try my best to make people happy as often as I can…is it enough? I shake my head again, this time more gently and if anything this sad, slow swinging seems to do more to loosen the webs than the violence of before. I let a small smile pass over my lips and sit down on the couch with Nilla. He’s warm, soft, and comforting. I lean down and hug him. The mostly husky dog, lifts his head to see what’s going on and puts it back down again with a discontented sigh. I woke him up. I smile, wider this time, and get up. I walk to wherever my computer is and pick it up, unplugging it from the wall. I gather the cords, my phone, and any other little trinkets before heading upstairs to my room. To sleep, to dream… Maybe I will do that tonight.