Coffee Rhetoric: Witching Hour

January 12, 2010

Witching Hour

I live basement level. Last night, during the wee hours, the pipes put up quite a ruckus. Banging! Clanging, Thrashing, ... the sounds were akin to someone hitting a metal baseball bat against a steel pole, with brute force over and over and over again. Pause. Then over again. Or perhaps something was trying to force its way through the heating vents above my bed? Was ceiling cat trying to make a nervous breakthrough? I'm not sure. Either way, I woke up in fits and starts. My heart leaped with every loud clang. I was already restless and edgy. I'm a chronic insomniac, and so was hungry for any semblance of sleep I could get. I'd suddenly drift off, and then CLANG! My heart thumped against my chest and my head started to throb. My mind started running its ever increasing lap. I tried in vain to lull and soothe my thoughts... to no avail. A bit paranoid and somewhat leery, I didn't get to sleep until 4AM. I felt like Catherine Deneuve, in Roman Polanski's psychological thriller, 'Repulsion,' minus the androphobia and sexual repression.
This late-late evening, I am still restless. While the malevolent spirit that lives in the vents is quietly lying in wait. Anxiety won't offer me any reprieve. I'm worried about many things. I'm antsy. I'm apprehensive. I'm resolute. I'm petulant. My eyelids are heavy and my retinas burn with fatigue. I want to cry frustrated tears, but because I'm resolute, I can't manage to squeeze any out... So, I'm keeping a vigil at this late hour ...