Alarm blaring, she reaches over and turns it off, quickly jumping to her feet.
Too quickly.
The world spins, and she grabs her bed for support. Closing her eyes, she shakes her head slowly. Not again. With a deep breath, she re-opens her eyes and stumbles cautiously forward, steadies herself, then continues. She prepares for the day with a gentler touch than yesterday.
Still, it’s worse than she thought: her head keeps swirling despite using every trick she’s come to learn over the years, and the dizziness is compounding the otherwise annoying issue. Mid-shower, she sits on the floor to calm the tides stirring in her head. A moment turns into a minute, one minute turns to several. Finally, as the water pumping out of the shower head starts to cool, she warily stands, rinsing off as swiftly as possible without worsening her condition. Turning off the water, she dries off, tugs on her robe, and makes her way back to her room.
The sun has started to rise, and the east-facing window greets her harshly, forcing her to stagger backwards. Blocking the rays of light with her hand, she ambles to the window and yanks the blackout curtain to properly cover the sunlight. She turns back to the dark room, eager to get on with day preparations only to find herself falling back into bed with the world twisting and spinning around her. Closing her eyes leaves the faded navy blue imprints to dance on her eyelids.
Just another hour, she tells herself. Maybe this episode will go away by then.
Sighing, she realizes she has to cancel a meeting; she can’t drive like this even if she were stubborn enough to try. She shoots off a text, brain too wonky to even time it to send later at a more appropriate time, and rolls over, tugging the blankets over her.
But sleep fails to come. First, she’s too cold, so she piles on the warmest of blankets from the end of her bed. Just as she starts to feel comfortable, she’s suddenly too hot. Tearing off all of the blankets does nothing to help, and the room feels stuffy and stale. Clambering out of bed, she opens both windows, eyes closed as she stands in them to catch a few snowflakes on her nose. Needing the fresh air but suddenly feeling weak, she crawls back into bed.
She tries to get some rest, but it refuses to visit her. So she pauses, turning her thoughts away from everything, even sleep, and rolling over as though to finalize that decision. She stares at the wall, then closes her eyes only to find the wall still before her, and asks God to talk through this silence. Her body continues to complain – it’s too hot, or it’s too cold, or it’s both too hot and too cold, or the sheet is crumpled, or the room is too dry, or the windows shouldn’t be open, or there isn’t enough fresh air. Still, she waits, not even knowing what she wants from her comforter.
Her phone buzzes; she resists the urge to reach for it. Several minutes pass, then it rings; she reaches over and silences it, then rubbing her face and wondering why that person would call her, especially at such an early hour. Another minute passes promptly followed by another phone call. Again, she reaches over and silences it, noticing it’s a different person that she’d been meaning to speak with. Not now, she closes her eyes, I’m not even sure I physically can speak right now. Besides, why all of this attention so early?
She glances at the clock. It slowly whirs into focus for a split second: 0938. She groans: her restful hour somehow turned into restless three. Worse yet, when she sits up, the world continues to spin, and now it also pulses, forcing her back to her pillow. Gratefulness overtakes her as she closes her eyes: at least today is a holiday; not all of the errands will get done, but at least she doesn’t have to explain this to her boss.
The thankfulness soothes her, quieting her nerves and allowing her to fall to slumber.
