A different topic this time, as I was, as coders might like to say, not able to fix some legacy code raising exceptions but at least I’m good at finding workarounds… Sometimes, if our own boundaries are continuously overridden, we’ll have to accept things and people as they are, not expending energy like a candle in the wind burning down until it gets dark — instead, breathe and not giving up on humour.
The other day, I was walking through a beautiful landscape in a dream. Flowers were blooming everywhere, and I had just made a wonderful discovery amid the chaos when suddenly it dissolved into a rumbling noise and pulled me along with it. Gradually, my ears and mind adjusted to the surroundings and made me recognise some insignificant everyday terms. Apparently, there had been an argument. No wonder that I couldn’t understand a word of what was being said, but I understood between the lines that it was time to get up.
So I gathered my belongings, shuffled into the bathroom and started. That is, I was just about to start when I felt a human need, which I naturally took care of first. My business ran into a heavy silence raising a few questions. As I sat there somewhat uncomfortably, something felt off. What had happened? Was my alarm clock broken, or had I, as so often lately, fallen right back asleep? Had they already finished their breakfast and wanted to let me sleep — even though my presence was considered nearly indispensable?
With slightly unsteady steps on the cold tiles, I made my way to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of sparkling water. Between the frizzy dark grey veils that looked like curtains during the day, night was still lingering, and there was no trace of the smell of coffee or any breakfast crumbs. There I stood, at 2:43 a.m., shivering in my slippers, like Monsieur Collignon in ‘(The Fabulous World of) Amélie’ at the weekly market the morning after Amélie, who, in that beautiful film, always helping the others without even showing up personally, thereby nearly neglecting her own luck …, had played a series of pranks on him, including setting his alarm clock to ring at an unearthly hour — and where Monsieur C. now stood alone there, no sign of his colleagues. (Side note: Germans love long sentences; keeping fingers crossed that the commas are right 😁)
I felt as bewildered as he did, first questioning the clock, then believing, vented my anger, but received no satisfactory answer. It didn’t help. So I packed and left, looking crestfallen, slunk away and did a few more dream rounds; probably just a tad more comfortable and warmer than the Monsieur found in the cauliflower… 🥔😴
At breakfast, I was informed: something that could not be postponed had occurred during the night, as small as a suction cup, yet as large as the window on which it no longer hung. Repelled by fluctuations in air pressure and temperature, it had lain on its side, defenceless as a tired horse tormented by colic. Conflicts that break out in this way, caused by entering private spaces for a few seconds, must of course be resolved immediately and loudly, even at night and in the dark; sleep is secondary.
A quiet stretch of the arm would probably have sufficed, or a note with a keyword, to be dealt with the next morning. I, on the other hand, can even write a short note in the dark (and read it next morning). Recently, I was fumbling for a tissue in a drawer, thereby recognising a box of medicine by the single dot at its position of the Braille inscription, an A, of course. Ingenious, isn’t it? Not that I needed any — but finding objects quietly out of consideration for any flatmates is a skill I learned from nights in rooms of school camps or hotels darkened only by curtains.
And yet, believe it or not, next morning, I drove without any incident; not a car, of course, but a shopping trolley, that rolling symbol of bourgeois dignity. I pulled it slightly uphill, along sloping paths through that treacherous, crunching, noisy grit, which apparently takes a prolonged rest there for the sole purpose of allowing winter service workers to do the same during the next snow shower.
The cursor can’t quite keep up. It too, this little flashing symbol of digital docility, seemed reluctant to process the events of the night. It lagged behind, stumbled over my fragile half-sentences, got stuck below the filled comment column due to the layout, and signalled its silent overload with a minimal delay. Confronted with this, the (otherwise, nearly always sleeping) AI I asked reasoned, suspiciously flatly, whether the cursor itself had been torn from a digital dream, somewhere between memory address and refresh rate.
So here I sat, with a leaden fatigue that was unparalleled, and regarded this night for what it was: an unauthorised intervention in my personal sleep schedule, a tribute to all those whose minds are at least half as flexible as a branch parched by the summer sun, for whom respectfulness is a concept that apparently gets rinsed down the bathroom sink at night, and on the other hand, a quiet pat on the back for all those software developers and/or aspiring writers who have “survived” similar scenes multiple times. Somehow, everything continued, bumpily but still functioning, accompanied only by the soft crunch of gravel under dry boots on hard tiles and surrounded by a few greasy gravy stains easily wiped off.
Finally, a poem because it just wouldn’t be right without one!
My window was still open wide
When I found out it was not right
The time for breakfast, coffee smell?
Not there at all, but why, please tell…
I stood there in the darkest night,
Still sensing anger of a fight
Which woke my senses like a thief.
I checked the time in disbelief.
Outside a night owl gives a word,
The cold wind feels just like a sword.
The noise, the people, not a trace,
Absquatulated with disgrace.
They picked a quarrel unaware
Of me at whom for help they stare,
Of me behind the wall, so near,
The odd one out, not needed here?1
My brain still knew its trusted friend,
I still had footsteps I could lend.
The air no longer quite so cool.
No longer tottering like a fool.2
My heavy head just felt like hell,
At least the shopping round went well.
Enjoyed reading?
Oversharing loudly is not quite the best choice at night. I grew strong, I can cope with it.
The winter weather has left central Europe, spring has come, hopefully. The times of icy roads not easy to walk on are gone (and I’m stuffed with shoe chains).
That single Braille dot doing all that quiet work was the exact little detail that got me... 😭
Beautiful piece Daniela! You reminded me of those days when I wake up in the night after dreams so real that they leave me confused about the reality I'm in. I usually try to write something about those dreams but I fall asleep and the next day I don't remember anything