Woke

It’s 8:58 pm on Saturday, and I lie waiting in bed. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days.

Stars twinkle outside my window, and my doona weighs down on my sore legs, comforting.

Is my posture right, I wonder adjusting my body, lengthening my spine and giving myself more contact with my cushion mattress. Did I drink enough water today? I doubt my dedication to myself and consider a New Year’s resolution, as the pounding in my head continues. 

I sigh deeply, mutely cursing those loose hinges on my garage gate, squeaking in the spring night breeze.

“Israel strikes again,” the watchful media editor push-notifies me. 

Still wide awake, I clear the notification and open Instagram. “I love that word! That’s what I’m going to name my next boat: ‘Eminence’,” some rich guy beams.

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I think I’ll start writing short stories on this blog again. Thoughts?