A Polish nanny who didn't know English, the first to see through my secret hidden in the food.-1
As the clock crept toward four, wakefulness ceased to be a choice and became a room with no exit. Until Marta walked into this house. What she wiped away wasn't just dust, but something concrete—powdery evidence of a certain white substance. And the catalyst for everything was a blue mug she deliberately avoided.
Sleeplessness as Physical Reality
3:11 AM. My eyes open, Lying flat, an old injury begins to throb in my right shoulder. My wife breathes steadily beside me. I count her breaths. At forty-seven, I lose track. I think about the 9 AM meeting tomorrow. The unanswered emails. The credit card bill. These thoughts circle. I sit up.I walk to the bathroom without turning on the light. Fumbling for the faucet, The water sounds unnaturally loud in the silence. I look up into the mirror at the dark outline of myself. Back to bed. Lie down again. The sheets are wrinkled. I smooth them. I repeat this action three times. Time passes. The glow of my phone screen: 3:47. "Sleep," I say aloud.
The Feel of Prescription Paper
Six people in the waiting room. Flipping through a magazine until the nurse finally calls my name. The doctor looks up. "Insomnia again?" I nod. "How was the last prescription?" "Less effective," I reply. He taps the keyboard. The keys clack crisply. "Describe."
"Two hours lying awake before sleep. Waking too early. Exhausted all day." He stops typing, looks at me. "Stressed?" "Work is normal." "Family?" "Normal." Silence. Then he opens a drawer, pulls out a prescription pad. He writes, tears off the sheet, hands it over. The dosage number is clear: 30 pills. "Thank you." "Follow-up in one month."