This morning is cold and quiet. Every morning is cold and quiet though, so I guess I only said that for effect.
I turned the tv off because I can’t stand the Los Angeles news, and I didn’t feel like looking for something else, and I could use a little silence.
I’ve realized this about myself: I can’t stare into darkness for more than like three seconds. I have never been able to do this. I am not scared of ghosts, either. I just can’t do it. What if I see something? What if I see something even though I don’t believe in that something the way everybody else believes in it?
When I was really young I used to sleep with my head under the covers. With a cave-like opening for my mouth. A peephole, except I didn’t use it to see, I used it to breathe. I only recently remembered this about myself.
The nighttime is hard for too many reasons.
When the lights are out and it is dark it’s like your brain becomes a different person. It’s like your brain becomes the person that was hiding from the overly revealing light. I don’t like the person I am at night because I think too much. During the day I think a lot, too, but at night I cannot see what’s around me and therefore cannot distract myself with such thoughts as, “That picture is crooked” or “The computer desk is dusty” or “I really loved that book” or even “That is red.” In the dark I cannot form opinions about matter. Not really, anyway. I can think about things I’ve seen before, but I usually don’t.
At night I think about everything I’ve been avoiding all day. Because I can’t hide from it anymore. Some nights I really scare myself. The dark really is quite revealing. You can’t hide from the night like you can hide in the night.
At night, when Sylvia is sleeping and the dogs are sleeping, and I am awake because I can never just fall asleep like she can, I feel too alone for not being alone. And being left alone with my thoughts at night is like leaving a child alone with a plastic bag or matches or a lighter or a gun. I should have a warning label.
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