Jackhammers from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m. outside the building next door. I don't know what they're doing it for, but it looks like a long project.
I went to a birthday party on Saturday and danced and danced and only stepped on a few feet with enough force to actually hurt anybody. Whoops. How the room swirled. I left at 2 a.m. with the music still blaring behind me for at least a half a block.
On Sunday the cold I had been fighting came and took up residence inside my sleepiness. I sneezed so hard I threw my back out. I highly recommend having a teenager at such times. Doubly so if they can cook. It is hard not to pretend to feel worse than I do, just to extend the loveliness of being tended to, treated like a fragile thing. I think he's on to me, though.
When I was little and I couldn't sleep I would match my breathing to my parents' down the hall. Not really snoring, but I could hear them, heavy and slow breaths through the night. And the first time I lived with someone other than my parents, I found myself also matching my breath to his, this breath lighter and faster than I was used to, but I learned. Putting myself to sleep by promising myself that everyone else was asleep; that if they thought it was safe it probably was. In, out, in, out. I did that any time I was with someone long enough to trust them; put my trust in their hands; put their breath in my lungs. When I was single I tried counting between breaths to prime numbers, sometimes even getting as far as 11 before realizing that I wasn't putting myself to sleep so much as suffocating, though that also works. Anyway last night I was counting on number five and I realized that I would probably not breathe with anybody again, and for a minute that seemed kind of sad, but five works pretty well and I breathed in for five and when I exhaled I blew that little puff of sadness away, because it IS safe enough to fall asleep, at least until the jackhammers start up again.