I didn’t sleep well again last night. It wasn’t the fluorescent digital clock that kept me up but upcoming possible posts marching across the landscape of my subconscious — across the theater of my mind. It reminded me of the 10 days Mother was hallucinating due to a prescribed potent antibiotic for bladder infection. She talked all night long in a monotone documentary-type drone reciting about bugs, grass, hay and dishes that seemed to envelop her sitting room in the assisted-living residence. She spoke of being captured by evil men and cried out over and over “I don’t understand why my family hasn’t come to get me. Surely they know I am missing.”
My dreams were like an audition: groups of ideas and words lining up and applying for a place in the blog. Some made sense but others were bizarre as my frontal lobes that govern logic were obviously disengaged. Bizarre combinations of events and people kept me from any amount of restful REM sleeping.
A phrase kept resurfacing throughout the night. “Week’s End.”
I had blogged earlier about finding a name for a weekly post I could use to sort things out, review the week, and list things I’m grateful for, or list things that make me crazy. A menagerie of perhaps unrelated events that have invaded my private thinking.
I think I found the perfect expression.