in the night

i sleep in fits and starts, packing my blanket behind me, under a leg, supporting whatever needs to be held.  i kick at it, softly, then more vigorosly, and then as defiantly as one can when trying not to wake up.  the piles of pillows and soft things, i turn and kick avraham, knee connecting with knee.  he startles awake, i shush him back down.  sleep comes, and with it, vivid dreams - of a protest, a collapsing building, a vision of my grandfather's ghost warning me away from danger.  attacking a stranger in anger to prove my strength, only to feel foolish after.  in the mall, my grandmother takes the waxing machine and begins buffing the floors.

i wake, always looking at something - the red numbers glaring out from behind my pillowcase, the dulled ceiling in pre-dawn light.  a muffled racket from upstairs, and i'm done for the next few hours.  the alarm up there sounds again, i hear a screamed "fuck!", then the stomping sounds of footsteps rushing at the clock.  i turn, caress my pillows, arrange them, and set back to trying to sleep.  i move too violently, avraham can feel it.  i lie still as long as i can, then kick the blanket.

it's a constant war being fought, even on the nights when i sleep deeply.  i recall (as a child) waking up completely backwards or, as on one strange morning, sideways, with my head propped up against the wall and my feet hanging over the side.

i live for the nights when i fall in to bed and wake up in the same position.  but often i wake up, looking at the clock, by night time master - waking up every hour on that number for he next 5 hours - 1:13, 2:13, 3:13, 4:13, 5:13, 6:13.  then falling down for 2 or 3 hours rest.