The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

The past two nights

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The past two nights I have felt pain. I have felt like breathing took effort, that calming myself was impossible. I am not pregnant, I cannot blame it on that. I am not pre-menstrual either. I wish estrogen levels had something to do with it. I sometimes wonder if I had more Omega-3 in my diet if that would help. Should I be eating more rice? More avocado? Less sugar? Would a diet rich in fibre do anything for my anxiety? My gallstones? My perky disposition?

The night before last, I took a pain pill before falling asleep. I knew what was coming, felt it creeping up my back and I was determined to sleep. I feel at my best when floating around in my head, in my own created environment. I don't remember when I gave into it. I don't remember a black wave rolling over me. What I remember is that I put my green leather bookmark into the book and saw that my clock radio was still flashing from the power outage in the afternoon. I remember thinking, I should probably reset that, before it got lost somewhere in the sound of sea waves. I know I was wearing the pajamas Kim gave me, the ones that smelled of discount stores and China, but they were comfortable and new, and green. I like to sleep in green pajamas. To me, it's the right colour for lying flat and bobbing unconsciously. When I awoke, the clock was still flashing, and the cats were still on either side of my legs, pinning me to the bed, and I was grateful that it was still early enough that I could stay where I was. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, filling with worry in the same way that an hourglass shifts its sand, knowing that nothing miraculous had happened while I hid under the covers. All was the same. I am still filled with anxiety over things which deserve the attention.

Then, last night. I fell asleep again before he came to bed. It makes me angry, the way he dawdles and loses time on his computer. It is a regular thing, his coming to bed long after I care whether or not he's there. I will admit to wondering more than once what he does when he thinks I've fallen asleep. Once, a couple years ago, I noiselessly made my way toward his office door in the early hours of the morning, hearing him tap, tap, tapping away in the darkness. I could see his monitor's reflection in a frame on the opposite wall, and I strained to see what he was up to. When I saw that he was actually still working, still moving polygons about just as he'd said he was all those other nights, I was relieved. Then, after the initial happiness spread itself over me, I was angry. I don't understand how working into the next day is preferable to lying next to the woman you love, the one who needs your arms and legs around her. I don't understand why anyone would risk another argument over it when it's so easy to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I remember padding softly back to the bed, gliding back in, trying to figure out if I should be relieved or annoyed. I fell asleep with the question still in my mind. So, last night, it seems I'd taken leave of my post as angry partner and went on sabbatical, drifting away as I let myself feel the warm, soothing effects of the alcohol I'd swallowed an hour before (mojito mix, one glass, but it did what I intended it to do). I think I might have looked up toward the ceiling, searching for God, but I saw nothing. I looked back at the clock radio and noticed that I still hadn't corrected the flashing, and was slightly amused by it. I flipped and flopped and I mangled my pillow to get the feel I wanted, just like my old dog used to do with his space in front of the fireplace, pacing and circling until he got the desired position just right. I thought of him then, my beautiful husky/malamute with the mis-matched eyes, one brown and one blue, my magnificent Murphy. I let my eyes fill with tears over missing him, over feeling overwhelmed, over feeling lost. It all went black after that.

Then, the back pain woke me. It was nagging and dull, but I'm accustomed to the way it courts me now. It comes on soft before turning violent and rude. I took myself downstairs to the family room, willing the pain away so that I wouldn't have to take anything for it. The pills knock me out, turn me into a dithering ragdoll. I didn't want to feel that so close to morning, so I watched something forgettable (it really was, I can't remember what it was at all) until I saw the sun creep through the window. The wee one appeared suddenly, her teddy bear Sissy dangling from her hand (he is always with her, that funny little bear in the pink pajamas) and she said she didn't feel like breakfast, she just wanted to cuddle. So we did, for as long as I could bear with the unrelenting pressure in my back. I relented, took a pill, made her a bowl of cereal before feeling the drunkenness of pain relief and lack of sleep envelope me. I put on her favourite program and told her that daddy would be up soon, and she excitedly hugged her Sissy, feeling empowered to have the television to herself. I crawled in next to him, waking him despite my silence, and he smiled knowingly at me, aware that I'd been gone for three hours. I was gone in an instant, caught in the bliss of numbness, and I was unresponsive until nearly noon.

I have not been happy these past two nights. The pain, the subsequent numbness are two things I'd rather not feel tonight. I'd rather fall asleep with a renewed sense of certainty, a plan for the day to follow. I would rather not fall asleep wishing for a miracle when I've never seen one before. When the lights go down, I want to feel comfort and love, hopefulness and strength. I want reason to wake me, for a course of action to be waiting. I don't want to be greeted by sunlight and dread. They don't go well together, I think.

The green pajamas are in the wash. I can feel the pain in my back beginning. I am already dreading tomorrow.

Of course, if it should come, I'm ahead, right?

The clock is still flashing.