My arms are thrown above my head – straight up like I’m doing a cheer. I can even feel my hands wiggle like jazz hands as I’m coming back from the breathy grip of a dream. I’m always just below my pillow with my neck at a slight angle. I’m not yet old enough, or I’m still too limber, to feel any soreness from the stiff neck even five minutes past wake up. I can tell it’s coming, though, like a hot breath on my neck – that same hot breath that takes me from jazz hands dreams into the bright white gasping morning. I wake up every day in this cushy, beautiful, joint-purchased marital bed and I wish I were more.
Did you know that underneath the sheets and underneath the dreams and underneath the top of my head, there’s long been white hair growing. Not even gray. It’s been there for 15 years and will no doubt turn me into the long white-haired woman. I don’t feel old. I feel 17 and 27 and 37 and 77. Sometimes my chest feels heavy like something is resting solidly on it.
There’s a feeling of amnesia every morning – waking up unsettled, almost unsure, nearly breathless, and tangled in sleep and sheets and dreams of mystery people and touch and joy and fear and pain, and it’s way more powerful than the feelings you feel during the day. It has to be. Your waking self has to suppress them, and numb them, and push them back between the sheets, at least a little, because how else would you survive your day? You’d be screaming with laughter and pain, and you’d be pawing and clawing the walls and standing on your head and upside down. You’d be a force. You are a force.
We’re all wild and untamed things, though. We wake up perfect and tormented and achy breaky and fragile and strong and hopeless and hopeful. We look up at our ceilings and notice paint trims and watermarks and future dreams. It’s all there.
This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week’s topic is “My Bed..” (5 minute free writing) And there’s still time to write yours. Come link up with your spin: HERE.