Living on Writer's Block

A slight noise rouses me from my half-asleep state for a moment, but when I lift my head sleepily to listen, there is nothing. No sound, no movement. I lay back down and cuddle deeper into the pillow, eager to let soft, warm sleep claim me. A few minutes later, I am almost there, when another quiet rasping makes my whole body jerk in surprise, jolting me uncomfortably back to wakefulness. I roll over and blink my heavy eyelids open, looking out the moon-silver window into the violet navy sky, the black silhouette of the willow mounding up in the corner.

Again, I hear nothing, and let my puffy, sticky eyelids close again, sighing tiredly. A slight chill reaches my already cold toes beneath the blankets, and I pull them up closer. But now I am conscious of the cold, and it grows, slowly, until the obsession in my mind has morphed it into an agonizing cold. A soreness. Groaning, I drag myself out of bed and go to the dresser, trying not to trip over the tangled pile of clothes on the floor. I open the drawer as quietly as possible, which unfortunately isn’t very, and pull out a pair of wool socks. I hate sleeping in socks, but it’s better than having frozen feet. Pulling them on haphazardly, I stumble back to the bed and bend down, my back complaining at the unwelcome flexion after my near-sleep. I carefully avoid the bottom edge of the top bunk, the efforts growing increasingly painful for no apparent reason, and settle under the thick, soft blankets, where my body immediately ceases its complaint. I am cold, and it will be even longer now before I can finally melt into the blackness of sleep. I roll over and bundle the blankets up around my ears, heaping them on top of my head and pulling one edge across my eyes to block out the moonlight. 

A sting in my hand is what rouses me next. The sliced palm feels like someone pressed a fishhook against it, hooked the barbed tip in, and is tugging very slowly. I shut my eyes and take deep breaths to calm myself and deaden the sensation, ignore it, wait for it to pass just so I can go to sleep. Bandaids, put on as a barrier against painful contact, won’t help this one; it’s not something I’m touching that’s hurting it, just a steady, piercing throb that emanates from the bleeding core beneath the skin. 

It will pass. 

It always does.

But by this time, I can’t sleep anymore. My mind has roused itself, and my eyes have been open too long. I slowly get up and slide out from beneath the blankets. I step quietly to the door, open it as quickly as possible to keep the creaking of the hinges brief, and slip out. Closing the door just as quickly and quietly behind me, I tiptoe down the hall, and freeze when I hear something stirring in the room beside me. I dodge into the playroom and hide behind the doorway, holding my breath as someone comes out of the bedroom and goes with significantly more noise to the bathroom and closes the door. I quietly exhale and slip down the stairs, to the kitchen. I pull out the teabags, my favorite blend of Chamomile and Earl Grey, and quietly set the kettle on the stovetop and wrap a towel around the knob to muffle the beep and click as I turn on the burner. 

Moving silently around the kitchen, freezing when I hear the bathroom door open again upstairs, I stare out the window above the sink into the dark outside. I breathe again when the bedroom door closes soon after, just in time to hear the kettle start to barely tick with the sounds of quiet boiling in its steel belly. I move to turn off the burner, and wince when my hand twinges again while I wrap the towel around the knob. I slowly turn the knob, wincing again when the click sounds far too audible in the utter silence downstairs. In a quiet place, any noise sounds far too loud. My heartbeat seems to thunder so raucously that I’m certain it’s echoing along the halls upstairs. Stepping back to the teabags on the counter, I slowly pull open the drawer full of mugs, and quietly take a typical white ceramic out from the ordered ranks of similar Crate & Barrel-style coffee cups. Almost as though I live in the world of A Quiet Place, I set the mug on a towel to muffle the clink. 

It’s far too quiet. Chills touch my skin and I glance over my shoulder, my eyes search the shadows behind me with far too much discomfort. There’s nothing there, as there never is anything there. I’m a woman in the dark, standing quiet against the wall, waiting for something I can’t even identify. Halls, people, cars, sidewalks, buildings pass me, a phantom city in a shadow world. I blink and shake my head, turning back from the strange visions in front of me to my task.

Pouring the tea, I sit down in the living room, and stare into the brown depths of the drink, inhaling the steam. I can’t describe how it tastes. It’s almost a spicy flavor sometimes. It’s a tea that can hold surprises, and tastes different every time. There’s a common factor inside every cup, but I can’t lay my finger on it. Like my eyes; they change color most days, but there’s always the same sort of undertone, a color I can’t name. The tea tastes the way my eyes look. It matches my mood. On days when I feel low, it’s a kind of cool flavor, sweet, a little like winter twilight. (Pardon the strange descriptions. I have no better words.) On days when I feel a bit more hyped and alert, it almost tastes reminiscent of chai, like an autumn noon. Bright thoughts, for a dark night.

I sip the warm liquid and wait for my mind to wander away into the shut-down stage, when I can stumble quietly upstairs again and fall asleep. It’s been days of this ritual. It started a few weeks ago, and I formed this habit. Then, mercifully, it stopped for a bit. When for about four days I stayed asleep through the whole night, I thought it was the last night, but now, again, I begin to wonder how strongly I could test for insomnia. The heat of the mug creeps into my palm, soothing and yet also stinging it. I press my hand harder to the smooth surface, forcing the pain deeper. 

If I can condition myself to it, it won’t be so bad.

I hope this is my last night in a quiet place.