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Lupine of Bloom
May. 13th, 2021 10:46 pmWell, you would think that a person who had 4 /2 hours of sleep one night would sleep a lot the following night. Apparently not. It was another beautiful day . . . unfortunately, it started shortly before dawn for me, when I was awakened and chivvied out of bed by a dark cloud of thoughts. I was up for a couple of hours. I realized I was never going to make it through another sleep-deprived day, so I finally crawled back into bed and took a nap. It would have been a better nap if this had not happened to be the day when some neighbors across the street had hired the tree surgeons to come and cut down an ENTIRE giant tree. But I was so tired that I napped anyway, only brought to the verge of consciousness intermittently by the very loudest bursts of snarling chainsaws.
A brief glimpse into the difficulties of going to sleep while a novelist: a thought drifted through my mind that I'd just like the freedom to love my childhood, regardless of its deficiencies. And then, seamlessly, the internal monologue continued, "There was that time I had a pony, for instance." Note: I never had a pony. NEVER. Nonetheless, there I was in my mind's eye with a pony, a beautiful little dapple gray named Silverado. Apparently I used to go out in the pasture with him (a pasture I did NOT have) and sit by the fence reading while he grazed. I also used to ride him around bareback, also while reading a book. And, of course, I had a meticulously imagined turn-out for riding him in shows. When I got too big for him, I acquired a neat little bay mare named Rosa Bonheur, or Rosie B for short. She had a surprising talent for jumping, although she wasn't very big, because she was so neat with her feat. In the end, we decided to make her a dressage horse, where she excelled. And thus I moved on to a large white gelding called The Panthan. He was an amazing jumper of tremendous courage who was brilliant at eventing. We were doing a puissance course one time when I lost a stirrup, but actually made it over the wall anyway. The Olympic team wanted to buy him. I said I would lend him, but I'd never sell. And then they argued with me that I was preventing the horse from fulfilling his potential, and then I argued that who were they to say he wasn't living his best life with me--plenty of time to hack around the countryside and not training 24/7. And then I was like, for God's sake, you're writing a 50s horse book in your head at two o'clock in the morning. Could we stop writing the memoir of a life you didn't have, and GO TO SLEEP? It was better than a lot of scenarios I've run at that time of night, however. There was no blood, nothing burned down and nobody died.
I woke up from my nap and grumpily went to the grocery store without breakfast or a shower. I didn't really get much done in the yard today, so shopping was my one accomplishment. I started putting my raised beds together, but noticed the shade creeping over them earlier than I'd anticipated. So I'm hoping that I'll wake up at a reasonable hour and STAY up, and be able to check on how much sun it gets in the morning, before I finalize the location. There is no spot in my yard that really gets the right amount of sun. The Sparrowhawk grilled some steak I brought home, accompanied by steamed artichokes and baked potatoes. Simple and perfect.
A brief glimpse into the difficulties of going to sleep while a novelist: a thought drifted through my mind that I'd just like the freedom to love my childhood, regardless of its deficiencies. And then, seamlessly, the internal monologue continued, "There was that time I had a pony, for instance." Note: I never had a pony. NEVER. Nonetheless, there I was in my mind's eye with a pony, a beautiful little dapple gray named Silverado. Apparently I used to go out in the pasture with him (a pasture I did NOT have) and sit by the fence reading while he grazed. I also used to ride him around bareback, also while reading a book. And, of course, I had a meticulously imagined turn-out for riding him in shows. When I got too big for him, I acquired a neat little bay mare named Rosa Bonheur, or Rosie B for short. She had a surprising talent for jumping, although she wasn't very big, because she was so neat with her feat. In the end, we decided to make her a dressage horse, where she excelled. And thus I moved on to a large white gelding called The Panthan. He was an amazing jumper of tremendous courage who was brilliant at eventing. We were doing a puissance course one time when I lost a stirrup, but actually made it over the wall anyway. The Olympic team wanted to buy him. I said I would lend him, but I'd never sell. And then they argued with me that I was preventing the horse from fulfilling his potential, and then I argued that who were they to say he wasn't living his best life with me--plenty of time to hack around the countryside and not training 24/7. And then I was like, for God's sake, you're writing a 50s horse book in your head at two o'clock in the morning. Could we stop writing the memoir of a life you didn't have, and GO TO SLEEP? It was better than a lot of scenarios I've run at that time of night, however. There was no blood, nothing burned down and nobody died.
I woke up from my nap and grumpily went to the grocery store without breakfast or a shower. I didn't really get much done in the yard today, so shopping was my one accomplishment. I started putting my raised beds together, but noticed the shade creeping over them earlier than I'd anticipated. So I'm hoping that I'll wake up at a reasonable hour and STAY up, and be able to check on how much sun it gets in the morning, before I finalize the location. There is no spot in my yard that really gets the right amount of sun. The Sparrowhawk grilled some steak I brought home, accompanied by steamed artichokes and baked potatoes. Simple and perfect.
