i've not been sleeping well lately... it's probably the pillow... i miss my pillow which i left behind in Edinburgh... and the ones i had here are now replaced by others which aren't quite right... hmmm
by 8:30pm last night i was dozing in bed intending to read myself to slumberland... only to discover i was already alseep when my big brother John knocked to say they (he and Lyn) were getting ready to leave... they came to visit, Lyn practiced her piano pieces, and we had some simple dinner which i prepared (stir-fried Gailan with mushrooms and some rice-noodley thingy called BeeTaiBak with an assortment of toufu and fishpaste ingredients known collectively as Yong Toufu)...
by 3:30am i was gaining consciousness and tossing about.... it is past 4am... and i am reminded of a poem:
Four a.m.
The hour between night and day.
The hour between toss and turn.
The hour of thirty-year-olds.
The hour swept clean for rooster's crowing.
The hour when the earth takes back its warm embrace.
The hour of cool drafts from extinguished stars.
The hour of do-we-vanish-too-without-a-trace.
Empty hour.
Hollow. Vain.
Rock bottom of all the other hours.
No one feels fine at four a.m.
If ants feel fine at four a.m.,
we're happy for the ants. And let five a.m. come
if we've got to go on living.
----- Wisława Szymborska -----
(trans. by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh)
ahh... i guess ... now it's past 5am... i'll go on living!
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