Never Sleep With a Laptop

Went to sleep with my laptop by my side.  Big mistake!

Casually pushed it into the spot normally occupied by my husband, but as he is away, it was so easy to do.  Didn’t give it another thought.

Never imagined that an object, so inanimate, would nudge me all night, invade my dreams and plea for contact.

Gave in at five a.m., and published that poem that had been lingering from the day before.  Pushed it away again at six thirty, tried to sleep, but it kept prodding, begging for more.

I turned my back, and it started to whisper:  “Check your post results.”  I pulled the covers over my ears and hunkered down deeper in the covers.

“I just need sleep!” I might have yelled.

And just as sleep came, its sweetness enveloping me, I was awakened by insistent loud banging on the door.  I rallied myself out of the fog, threw on a robe and peeked out beyond the blinds.  Nothing.  Checked the front door. Also, nothing.  Came back to bed, saw the computer lying there, looking so inert and exiled it from my bed.

After I wrote down my dreams, of course.


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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