Sleepless in Suburbia

Another night of staring at the ceiling
the television button illuminating the room to show the shadows and heaps of laundry waiting to be folded
silent peepers not helping,
as the hum of speeding late night drivers on the parkway filters through the woods
12:45am

The sheet is wrinkled
The pillow is damp
My legs twitch and itch
as a heat rash begins as air bubbles churn through my empty stomach

I should have made a list.
What did I forget? What do I want to forget?
You can do it. Don’t think.

Concentrate on breathing
In and out
What phone calls need to be made tomorrow?
How am I going to make all these deadlines?
There is no balance. All is out of whack.
Control is an illusion.
Did I put the casserole I made in the freezer
or is it rotting on the kitchen counter?
Why did I say, “Yes”?
Things done and left undone
Let it be.

Breathe.
In and out
Scratch.
Toss.
Turn.
Throw off the blanket.
Maybe a drink
Maybe some Tylenol
Now hives. Time for the Zyrtek
1:30am

Creaking down the hall touching each floorboard that is not tacked tight
The glow of the dishwasher ‘done’ light illuminates the kitchen.
Water drunk. Drugs taken.
Make a list? Triage tomorrow?
Instead, sit in front of the glow of Cities and Knights
One game, two
2:15am

Don’t bump into the luggage in the hall
Toe joints crack
Same wrinkled sheets
Lay back
A steady pattern of breathing from the next pillow
Lay still
Things done and left undone
Let it be.

3 thoughts on “Sleepless in Suburbia

  1. This is an interesting, unique poem, I can certainly relate to this sort of work, sleep, work, sleep balance. I was stuck in this sort of routine for about eight years until I left my job.

    Wonderful poem x

    Like

  2. What a night; what a gift to be able to write about it with grace. I’m holding the thought for a restorative full night’s sleep.

    Like

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