Sleepless

I've been having difficulty sleeping lately. Tonight (early morning, actually) is another of those sleepless times. Stress is interfering with my sleep cycle, which interferes with everything else in my life. I tend to withdraw from the things I normally do, to disengage for awhile. I still function fairly well in my work and at home, but I am not fully participating. I am aware of the disconnect, but not able to stop it. Don't know what this means, this disconnection from reality, from myself and everyone else. I think it might be normal, for me anyway, because it happens fairly regularly.
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There is a gorgeous full moon out tonight, bright as daylight almost. I love nights like this, in fact - cool, breezy, good sleeping weather. If I could sleep. Wish I could sleep.

Damn, why can't I sleep?
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Daughter and grandson are sawing logs. I can hear them all the way downstairs here in the back part of the house, where the computer is located. The cats are trying to sleep, but my tapping the keys and the lamp light keeps waking them. They move to a darker corner of the room and bed down again. Lucky little furballs.
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Outside, I hear some small animal rustling through the brush near the side gate. Probably a mouse, or chipmunk. Not a big enough noise to be anything much larger. (Could be Sowa's spider, of course...jeeze, Martha, don't go down that road again!)
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The house talks to me when it's quiet out and I'm sleepless. The battery-operated wall clock at the other end of the room ticks each passing second, reminding me that I'm awake when everything else inside is asleep. Its ticking matches the rhythm of my heartbeat, of which I am extraordinarily aware right now.
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The refrigerator hums, the boiler gurgles, the toilet tank drips every ten or so heartbeats...oops, it skipped a beat...the tank, not my heart. One of the cats yawned, again. The wind whistles down the chimney in a melancholy sigh. When I pause my typing to compose my thoughts, I absent-mindedly brush my fingertips across the keys, ever so lightly, yet it sounds like I'm dragging a gunny full of corn husks along the floor. The stairs creak as the house settles some more in the cool night air.
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I'm worried. I cannot find another part-time job to supplement my income. My daughter lost her job this week and I don't know how I am going to support three people on income that didn't completely cover the expenses of one. I worry about losing my home, then feel guilty because of all those families who have lost theirs already, and those who have been homeless for several years. I worry about being unable to feed my family, then remember there are babies who went to bed tonight with nothing to eat all day, and the day before that, and likely tomorrow, too.
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The clock ticks on, oblivious to my concerns. Or, maybe, it is trying to reassure me that this, too, shall pass, just like the seconds it marks with each tick. Sleep, sleep, sleep, it ticks...sleep, sleep, sleep.
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With each heartbeat, each drip, each tick, I feel myself reconnecting to the rest of the world. Back to the land of the living, the snoring, the breathing. Reconnecting to myself, my intelligence and memories and reasoning skills.
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I have survived worse than the things that won't let me sleep tonight, the things that have disturbed my sleep for weeks now, the things that I sought refuge from by disconnecting. I'll figure out solutions for all these worries. We'll get through this, just as we have gotten through other tough times.
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Goodnight, beautiful moon. Goodnight, rustling noise out by the gate. Goodnight, spring peepers. Goodnight, cats and goodnight, house. I'm going to bed.
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Perchance to sleep.
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(c) 2009 Martha McLemore