A dim sliver of light
Mood:
awake
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I rarely sleep well.
When I was young, I used to just get up and wander around the house in the middle of the night, waiting to be tired enough to try and get back to sleep.
I'd sneak out to the backyard, where it was dark and still, except for the faint crackle of electricity travelling through damp power lines. and just sit. I can't remember doing anything else while I was out there at first except staring at the moon if it was out, and whatever I was thinking wasn't important enough to leave the slightest trace in my memory.
One night during a full moon, through the slats of our backyard fence I could hear the slightest bit of music, and see the lights of the neighbor's pool. Creeping up to the fence, I tried to look through without showing myself to whomever was there, as if they'd be looking or care. When I actually did look, I discovered there wasn't enough space between the slats of the fence to actually see more than a halo of light.
OMD's "Tesla Girls" was playing faintly from backyard speakers along the fence, and I could hear a male and female's voices, though I couldn't make out what they were actually saying. It must have been the son of the owners, who I'd heard about but never actually seen in person. I set off imagining some sauve romantic fellow, seducing some beautitful woman with the wonderful setting of a midnight swim under the moon.
The idea of it made me strain to try and see through the narrow slivers of space in the fence, like I could learn some secret, or spy on some special private moment that might give me some revelation in my youth. I imagined myself in that circumstance, with some future love of my own, and some idealized, fantasy version of how I would act someday if I ever got the courage to actually interact with the opposite sex in more than some nerdy, immature, childish way.
It seemed like an eternity had passed in vain struggle. I wasn't going to see anything more than my imagination, and even the effort of trying seemed draining and tiring. I resigned myself to going back inside to bed, no more educated or informed than before.
And I still didn't sleep well.
When I was young, I used to just get up and wander around the house in the middle of the night, waiting to be tired enough to try and get back to sleep.
I'd sneak out to the backyard, where it was dark and still, except for the faint crackle of electricity travelling through damp power lines. and just sit. I can't remember doing anything else while I was out there at first except staring at the moon if it was out, and whatever I was thinking wasn't important enough to leave the slightest trace in my memory.
One night during a full moon, through the slats of our backyard fence I could hear the slightest bit of music, and see the lights of the neighbor's pool. Creeping up to the fence, I tried to look through without showing myself to whomever was there, as if they'd be looking or care. When I actually did look, I discovered there wasn't enough space between the slats of the fence to actually see more than a halo of light.
OMD's "Tesla Girls" was playing faintly from backyard speakers along the fence, and I could hear a male and female's voices, though I couldn't make out what they were actually saying. It must have been the son of the owners, who I'd heard about but never actually seen in person. I set off imagining some sauve romantic fellow, seducing some beautitful woman with the wonderful setting of a midnight swim under the moon.
The idea of it made me strain to try and see through the narrow slivers of space in the fence, like I could learn some secret, or spy on some special private moment that might give me some revelation in my youth. I imagined myself in that circumstance, with some future love of my own, and some idealized, fantasy version of how I would act someday if I ever got the courage to actually interact with the opposite sex in more than some nerdy, immature, childish way.
It seemed like an eternity had passed in vain struggle. I wasn't going to see anything more than my imagination, and even the effort of trying seemed draining and tiring. I resigned myself to going back inside to bed, no more educated or informed than before.
And I still didn't sleep well.
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