6. Wakeup Call
Some days I wake up way too early.
Sleep evaporates. Grabbing at the mist does no good, so I get up and
usually I begin to write. Fish around in my head. Turn into a
Psalmist – Why are you so disquieted within me, O my soul? I hypo
some condriacal thoughts – What diet has caused this? What looming
illness? Maybe one of the kids – What's wrong? What's happened? I'm
Mrs. Castorini. “Who died?” But no one did and nothing's wrong.
Only the world has rotated again, and the sensible birds outside my
window are calling.
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