The moment is peaceful. That’s how it starts. Eight hours of calm await my body. Then, a thought. Just one. Then, two. Suddenly there are precisely ninety-six things in a centrifuge spinning so fast it’s futile in effort to grasp one.

Seven, six, five, four, three hours left and now there are two-hundred and sixteen things, spinning uncontrollably.

It feels like a three-year-old took a bunch of random crayons, scribbled everywhere and declared, “It’s you!”

Signs of morning creep through the rouladen panels and I am asked, “did you sleep well?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He’s so kind and thoughtful. Tell him yes, I beg myself. I shake my head no, and a small “mmhmm” escapes.

Because how do you explain ninety-six things in a science experiment and a toddler drawing?

 

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