Late Night Writing

Nov 2, 2012

(This is what happens when a tired Morgan writes about being tired.)

Late night writing really isn’t my style.

I prefer a clear brain to think, not one muddled by the confusing fog that clouds the late hours.

It really is the best description for it. A fog. It slowly settles into your head the later it gets. If you stop and close your eyes, you can almost feel it creeping in your ears. But most of the time you are too busy to pay attention. One minute you are alive and flourishing and then next exhaustion hits you like a brick wall. The fog fills your ears and eyes. You focus harder to see the page in front of you. You feel like you are listening to the world through a tunnel, every noise echoing off the sides. You are about to drop. Your head is suddenly too heavy for your neck to support. You find something to rest it against. A pillow. A table. A window. When it hits this hard, even your hand will do. A few seconds rest you say. That’s all you need. A brief moment to shut your eyes, to clear your head, then everything will be running smoothly again.

But that’s not always the case. Sometimes your body just won’t take no for an answer. That’s when the train leaves. You are carried off to an unknown land in an unknown time, leaving your body in the care of something else. It will be looked after while you are gone. And if it really needs you back, you can be pulled back in in an instant. But that’s not what you’re thinking about now. Now all you need to know is that it is all being taken care of, you just leave. So you do. You drift off, not sure where the train is taking you, not sure where you should be going either. But that isn’t important now. The train will sail on, drifting anywhere. You look out the window, watching as scenes pass you by. Some are just swirls of color drifting in and out of your focus. Others are sharp, clear as day. And those are the ones that can be disturbing. Fear rattles the train, jostling you about in a panic. But just as soon as it comes, the fear is gone, and you are still on the train. You know if you look to your left, or your right, or even just behind you, there are other people taking this trip with you. But you don’t seem to care. This is about you now. About relaxing and enjoying and genuinely appreciating the rest. Being in your body is tiring. This trip is just what you needed. But soon you feel the train is slowing down. You aren’t sad, you knew this time would come. And slowly it fades to black, and you feel the need to close your eyes. It’s not important, just something that feels right.

Then suddenly, you are awake. Back where you were before. Your head is still resting somewhere, maybe not where you left it. But they took good care of your body. Who? Who took good care of? The relaxation is gone. The moment has passed. The fog too is gone though, you can think clearly now. You can remember…remember what? Something happened, you went somewhere. But where? All you remember are a few pictures, and few moments in time. They start off sharp, clear as day. Some are enjoyable. Others aren’t. But they soon start to fade. Dreams, you say, I was dreaming. Then you move on. Living. Moving. Enjoying the world. Until the next time the fog descends. And before you know it, you are back on the train.

1 comment

  1. Comment by Joyce Bowden

    Joyce Bowden Nov 6, 2012 at 4:17 pm

    Nice piece, enjoyed the trip on the train.

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