i don’t want to think about this word.
can’t i just refer you to this post and we’ll call it a night? (i think the answer is yes, it’s our fucking blog after all)
or just that this word, and ones like it, just make me feel hopeless and scared and alone? because what fear tells me is that i will be dealing with all of this perpetually? that it is eternal, woven into my DNA and that of my child (and her children and theirs too), this ugliness and shame and grief?
ugh. ugh ugh ugh.
I don’t like this word at all. I have a really stupid reaction to it that’s similar to what I have when someone calls me persistent. I don’t like it, just don’t. And wouldn’t know where to even begin to try to explain it.
i like the night too, always have, for the reasons pocketbrit mentioned and others. like her, it makes me feel safe. part of earthly things, but also part of other things. i used to read late into the night when i was younger…and then, when i got older, i would fairly often study late into the night, sometimes until it got light.
one of my favourite series of night memories, and i just thought of it now, was when i was 19 and 20, and my then-boyfriend worked at a urban golf course watering the greens. his shifts started at 10 or 11 at night, and involved driving all over the course in a golf cart, turning on sprinklers in shifts. sometimes i invited my friends, and we’d race our carts all over the place, but the best was when it was just the two of us, driving together in the blackness, then lying together on a worn floral couch in the maintenance house, listening to the radio all night. i can remember the smell of the grass and the into the cool patches of fog we’d drive through, interrupting the thick warmth of the summer nights.
i don’t always feel so reverently when i am awake all night for other reasons (e.g., work, where i was last night, or insomnia, or a sick kid) but in general, i do love it…the quiet. the feeling that i am part of some sort of lovely, safe secret. the cozy glow of lamps, the twinkling of stars, the way the rustle of trees sound louder, the familiarity of the face of the moon up in the clouds.
(note: i am having another more invasive series of thoughts about night but i really, really don’t want to engage with them right now, because i am tired, and i am warm, and i am enjoying the sleepy memories i mentioned above.)