So far this summer, I’ve had plenty of good, full days. Different, for sure, from my previous summer when I reached a golden brown to rival French toast. The hardest work I would have to do all day is reach over to grab a cold beverage from my deck chair. This summer, I’ve woken up stretching stiff muscles and blinking away wisps of dreams that, later, I can only grasp at.
The truth is, it's exhausting. And exhaustion helps me sleep better. I can forget about the girl with long, dark, straggly hair, crouched in the corner waiting to pounce. I can ignore the slightly muffled breathing coming from under the bed. I can even tune out the constant list that's running through my head, like endless movie credits on fast forward. "Don't forget about this," it whispers. "Make sure you do that," it commands. Luckily, once my head hits the pillow, it's lights out.
In the morning, it's rush rush rush even though I'm up before the day breaks. Can't waste daylight so everything is a rush. Even my footsteps tap faster and I won't tell you the number of times I've tripped on absolutely nothing.
Right about now, I've lost the vision of what I'm rushing toward. All I know is that, I must get there and I must not be late.