"Midnight Snacks"

My head throbbed.

The fan spun in circles above my head, like a dog chasing its tail, and created a sort of perpetual buzz that penetrated what seemed like the silence of the night.

I was staring at a canvas of black, but occasional swirls of blacker-than-black would float into view and glide across the room; sometimes silently sliding into the closet and hiding a few minutes before creeping out again. Step one was not working.

Sweat soaked my socks and glistened on my arms. I nestled my nose into my pillow and shook my head back and forth, as if I were wiping my nose.

These are the hours I had become familiar with; the early hours of the morning. The dawn’s prelude. The buzzing of the fan, the haunting scratch of the holly shrubs against my window, the whistle of the wind in the chimney, the restless tossing of blankets.  

My eyelids refused to stay shut, and I could no longer stare into the black and blacker-than-black, so I sat up and let my feet find the floor.

The familiar tap on the hardwood reminded me I had progressed to step two; I would pace for hours until I walked through every step of the midnight ritual.

Anxious for sleep, I proceeded into the kitchen, my fingers tapping the walls beside me as I glided through the dark. I passed the lving room, and wondered if the hound knew she sounded like a wolf when she slept; her snores gnawing into the quiet.

The cabinet squeaked as I opened the door and took a box of cereal from the shelf; step three.

I raked its insides into a ceramic bowl and placed the box on the counter, where it would spend the night. Step four; I reached for the milk on the top shelf, but was unable to locate the gallon jug.
I flipped the lights on, and reopened the fridge; still no milk.

Dear God, I whispered, if I don’t finish step four, how will I get to step five and six?

I remember a moment of solemn dismay; standing there alone in the kitchen, realizing we were out of milk.

Then I got over it. It was almost dawn. I would survive, with or without the creamy white substance that put me to sleep so easily.

I snatched the bowl of cereal and sat in my bed, now cold, munching on the dry substance until I don’t remember. The next thing I knew, sunbeams brushed my arms and hair and I heard birds chirping outside my window. I felt restless; I could no longer lie in bed but I was too tired to get up. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. This is what it felt like, every morning. Whether we had milk or not.

There is just something refreshing about waking up to crumbs in your sheets.