From my window, I can see into the apartment building across the street, and at 4 am, all the neighbours have gone to sleep. Looking out reminds me of the nights and mornings I’ve woken up/been awake with a packed suitcase waiting for it to be time to leave for the airport.
I have insomnia. I am much better at having insomnia than I am at sleeping. The last time this happened, I cleaned my room and showered and read a book. It’s better for me to distract myself than to indulge in the thoughts I have in the middle of the night, which make me feel hectic and jittery.
The other day, D and I were trying to deconstruct my current state of simultaneous malaise and anxiety, and he pointed out that it’s the middle of February, which means on Sunday, my mother will have been dead for 12 years. That’s the English date, the Hebrew one passed a week ago without my noticing, because it doesn’t actually mean anything to me; one anniversary is enough.
Anyway, this might explain why everything has been off lately, even if I’ve stopped noticing the time that has gone by. D says, “Your body knows even if your brain doesn’t.” He also pointed out that someday, the years that I will have been without her will be more than I was with her. I will be old, then, and even though things will be different, they will really be the same.