It is late. I have been medicated to sleep, but no such luck. I toss and turn, unable to regulate my breath. I am aware of the precious need of sleep for the others - but it feels like such an enormous task to complete, one function customarily unnoticed. In, out. In, out. But there is a significant weight on my chest which I cannot shake and it makes the rest of me shake with fear, anger, and fatigue. Nausea, too as fear mounts.
Naomi falls asleep on our bed, upside down, metaphoric 6 yr old speak for chaos. She and I are both clockwork sleepers, bed, light out, gone. Now, we both have altered patterns, discomfiting.
I sit listening to the ipod to Jonathan Elias - the Prayer Cycle - Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, in one of the last projects of his life; Devin Provenzano, the boy soprano prodigy, is like the voice of an angel, bringing light and innocence to the masses so desperately searching for something beyond them. And weird, Alanis Morrisette singing in Hungarian. And Linda Rondstadt singing in Spanish.
I want normal - even to breathe normally, without weight. Already, I don't know what that will mean anymore. 21 days in, and my previous normal has disappeared.