Water drips from the ceiling.
She’s left the tap on again.
I get up off the futon, it’s not like I’d been sleeping, just trying, and failing.
She always seems to leave the tap on if I stay on the futon, I don’t know why, but she does.
I open the door and start climbing up stairs, not bothering turning the lights on – I know the way.
I open the bathroom door and, sure enough, the tap is running and the bath is overflowing.
Another sleepless night.
© The Lonely Recluse
I can’t believe we had the same argument again. She thinks of my writing as nothing but a hobby that takes up too much of my time. I can’t convince her I have plans to one day publish my verses. If there isn’t a definite timeline, she feels I am wasting my time.
Without another word I leave the bedroom and head downstairs to the library. Maybe there is something in me I can write out. I open my laptop to make an attempt, but nothing is making sense. I can’t get past the word “hobby” playing in my head.
Restless with insomnia drilling in my brain I wander from window to window watching the moon makes its way across the sky. Exhausted I feel I should try to sleep. I go back to the library to lie down on that old futon in the corner.
What is that? I look up to feel drops falling from the ceiling. She’s left the tap on again! I don’t know why she leaves the water running when I am on the futon. Perhaps it is just punctuation to her feelings about my writing.
I have no other choice but to get up. It’s not like I had been sleeping. I open the door and start climbing stairs, not bothering to turn on lights. I know the way. I reach the bathroom to find the tap running and the bathtub overflowing onto the floor.
Another sleepless night….
©Susie Clevenger 2011