Fitful

Dearest Rachel –

There’s really no other way to characterize last night’s attempt at a decent night’s sleep. From about three-thirty onwards, there barely seemed to be a moment when I wasn’t aware (I hesitate to say ‘conscious,’ as that’s a little too on the nose) of lying in bed, hoping for sleep to come back to me.

It wasn’t a pleasant, anticipatory restlessness, either, like that of a kid on Christmas morning; not that there would be any reason for a emotion like that. Some of it was the concern about things that need to get done today; putting together poster designs, and sending them to a local printer to produce before the end of week (and actually, rather sooner, as I’d also need to put them together on a sort of frame to hold up along the way), the usual monthly work on the books for both church and camp (especially a receipt that seems to stubbornly trying to match itself with transactions that the program acknowledges have already been matched, for whatever reason), that sort of thing.

There’s also the fact that, by attempting to computerize the registration process at Sparks, I’ve inadvertently hurt the feelings of the individual who’s been handling the process manually all this time; apparently, she thinks I’m trying to ease her out of a job. Far from it; if nothing else, I won’t be there to do my job for the last couple of months of this particular school year, after all. But now I need to figure out how to smooth things over, and show her what I’m trying to do by connecting everything about every kid’s record. I can’t expect her to be as enthusiastic about the concept as I am, but if I can find a way to show her how to use this, maybe this will help her speed things along, now that we’ve scaled our program up so much so quickly.

So yeah, I’ve had a few things on my mind, and I can’t do much about any of them lying on my back. But getting up at that ridiculous hour would have been pointless, too, as there would be nothing I could do at that moment, really. Everyone else, whether business or individual, would be as asleep as I’d like to be, after all. That, and I really wasn’t feeling like getting up, anyway. Even the idea of going to the gym was repellent, as I could still sense a little soreness in both my arms and legs from yesterday. Nothing that I would actually call ‘painful,’ as such, just a slight sense of a “can’t we just have the day off?” sort of complaint from my muscles, which, to be honest, my brain seemed more than okay with – especially since I’ve actually managed to hold onto that low that I’d only been able to touch a few times over the past couple weeks – it would seem that I’ve lowered myself onto a new plateau, and rather than work myself too hard, my mind seemed inclined to give my muscles the rest they were asking for. But for the moment, it was having serious difficulty shutting back down after being fired up in what amounted to the middle of the night.

At some point, however, I rolled over, only to discover that I had pocket-dialed my phone – quite the feat, considering I didn’t have any pockets in what I was wearing in bed. I do tend to leave it resting on your side of the bed if I happen to be overcome with lassitude while going through my newsfeed just one last time at the end of the day, so there’s that possibility that rolling over onto it might have triggered it. But the fact that it barely had a moment to ring before being picked up, and the cheerful voice that answered brought me to a point where I began to wonder about the plausibility of the scenario I had been thrust into.

“Hi, Honey!” It was the same chipper tone that you’d used on the message you recorded on your cell phone, letting anyone who might call that you couldn’t come to the phone, but that you’d get back to them as soon as possible, as long as they left their particulars with you. I guess it still kind of holds true even now, except that there is no ‘as soon as you can’ anymore.

“Rachel? Is that you?”

“Yep! Everything’s okay.” You didn’t elaborate any further; no explanation of what things were like over there, nor even an indication whether you were referring to where you were at all or offering reassurance to me that everything was going to be okay. Yet somehow, I managed to ask the wrong question to upset it all, as I still sensed myself skating on either side of consciousness.

“Is this a dream?”

“Yes; yes, it is.” Your voice sounded a little sadder, perhaps from having been caught out. I want to say that, as you (and the phone, for that matter, which happened to be resting on the chair by my nightstand, still hooked up and charging in reality) faded away, you exhorted me to go back to sleep and get some more rest, but I’m guessing that was my mind giving the rest of my body permission to not just bound out of bed, despite being perfectly aware that the gym was about to open up in the waking world. I could probably break through the two hundred thirty milestone if I put myself through my paces this morning, but I’d had enough – and would have plenty more – to deal with, and needed the extra rest, or at least, I think that’s what it seemed to have concluded.

I didn’t get up until seven, despite all the time I was aware of just lying there (or dreaming about just lying there – is there a difference?) I wouldn’t call it a full night’s rest, but it’s the best I could do under the circumstances.

Anyway, I guess I’ve got to get on with things for now. Thanks again for the call, honey, even if it was only a dream – I know it’s the best you can do for now. Keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.