Talking to Mary, you know you don't have to shout
She can hear what you're thinking like you're saying it right out loud
--Elliott Smith, lyrics from Talking to Mary
Instead of focusing on a lovely
Thanksgiving dinner that we had at home, instead of admiring the Christmas tree
that we bought and decorated the day after Thanksgiving, instead of
congratulating myself for starting to clear out the garage this weekend, I
chose to sink. Wrapped in half bedclothes, half street clothes, and finally
just carrying a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, a portable bed if you
will, from bed to couch and back again. I could barely keep my eyes open and
just decided to let myself drift into the boozy slumber of a depressive
episode. Waking each time reminded me how utterly perfect my sleep had been and
caused me to crave it even more. Asleep, I can’t be prickly with my husband or
grouchy with the dog. Asleep, I hurt no one. My sweaty cheek with hair
plastered to it pressed hard into the pillow. Sweet relief.