Shaking off bad dream malaise is not an easy thing to do; but there is something calming in books with breakfast. There is something calming in the way that Hemingway writes, that soothes a racing mind.
Without Ryan to listen to, or music to fill my head, at night I often read just before bed and love to fall asleep with another’s stories in my head. But with Hemingway I often find myself droopy-eyed yet pressing on further into the story.
Last night at 1am I woke to relieve myself and found that the relief I needed was of a more social manner. I dreamt of unhappy things, of jealousy and mistrust and furious flailings. I woke reaching for Ryan but getting only hot, humid, stagnant air.
I fell back asleep around 530am and slept until the angry rooster and the grumpy donkey that has been tied to my gate for three days screamed and yelped and balked at me.
Sweet Tene, my host sister, showed up soon after I drug myself from the floor and found me in distress and obviously tired and offered to do my laundry and I felt better.
She is so sweet and meek and lovely. And Hemingway is good at helping me to see that.
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