Sleep?

There is no such thing as sleep, it seems, not for me. I rest, fitful, and slide into dreams, but the deep, restorative stuff? Not sure if I ever get there. (I realize I must or I wouldn't be able to write this, but it doesn't feel that way.)

From across the world he suggests I get it over with.

Why?

I'm an ostrich and my head is buried deep in the dank, dark sand. That's the way I like it, thank you.

How do you move beyond avoidance? I'm not sure. It must just take time. As long as I ignore the question, I think it'll work out fine. (I realize I'm likely wrong, but it doesn't feel that way, it feels comfortably dark and dank.)

Last evening, in front of the faux fire, new IKEA rug cozying the hardwood, snuggled into a lovely soft brown sofa (from a dear, departing friend) with my girl, I began reading Hold Me Tight while she read Blueberry Girl. These were two perfect books for Friday night after the movies (we saw The Princess and the Frog).

I got up just know with a plan to read more about adult attachment. It makes perfect sense to me. Without a sense of love to rest in, someone at our back and strong, without the comfort of an intimate bond, how can we sleep at all?