My husband and I lie back-to-back on the hotel bed, neither moving in case the other is finally on the cusp of sleep. No talking, no fidgeting. Those are the rules.
Like most motels, a blaring yellow light floods the concrete walkway outside our door. It spills around the edges of the thick curtains and leaks into the room. I use it to gaze around my temporary habitat – cheap furniture, no clock, bags half-opened to let clothing spill out, a table with one chair, the ubiquitous luggage rack we’ve never used in any hotel.
Over there, inches away, lies another person, in his own world of thoughts. And, as per the unspoken rules, I cannot move or speak to bridge that gap, in case he has tumbled into sleep. Are his thoughts along the same theme as mine? I hate trying to sleep in hotel rooms.
When you’re married, you share everything eventually–even insomnia.
Against my will, paragraphs begin to shape themselves in my mind. I grope for my spiral notebook and a pencil and write them down, my script spiky and angled, overlapping in the dark. When I give up on sleep I slip from bed and fumble for my clothes in the grey darkness. I dress, barely breathing, thankful for the carpet swallowing the sound of my steps. My husband, whose occasional shifts and sighs betrayed his wakefulness throughout the night, doesn’t stir now, and I hope that he, at last, is asleep and dreaming, as I am unable to do.
I run my fingers through my hair and let myself out of the room, padding down the hallway toward the lobby and its free internet access. Around me, the smell of coffee brewing, and on TV a news anchor grimly analyzing the stock market. The cheerful desk clerk nods at me, then goes back to his morning paper. I scan the continental breakfast offering: Danishes, two kinds of muffins, and Tang – carbs and chemicals. Outside, flower petals chase each other on the breeze. Cars shoosh past.
Stifling a yawn, I feed the results of my notebook ramblings into the computer and publish them. Perhaps nearly everything is worth it if it gives you something to write about.
Thanks for giving us a glimpse into your early mornings. And I’m happy to hear your tent is a great set-up!
Insomnia’s no fun, but I love occasionally getting up really early. Everything’s so still and quiet…just waking up.
Love it!!! 😉
This makes me want to go on vacation. Those kinds of moments, while uncomfortable at the time, always seem to make really good memories.
I had to laugh, sorry. It is funny though. You didn’t mention the invisible line down the centre of the bed. lol.. I try not to stir too much in fear of waking my husband. I tip toe around like an invisible ghost trying to find their way out of the room. (this isn’t in a motel though) lol…
Motels, we usually crash and sleep pretty well.
I also keep a pad and pen handy for those late night scribbling thoughts. I sit up, reach for it in the dark and write. Sometimes it’s a disappointment the next morning because I can’t understand my own writing. I recently purchased a little book light and it works just fine. 🙂
Wow, Caryn, at least you turned your insomnia to great use! When I can’t sleep I get so frustrated I just lie there and simmer. Not useful and I suspect it keeps me awake even longer!
Hahaha! Traveling is so hard. Too many things on your mind and so much time in transit you almost forget to have fun. I don’t get stories running through my head though. I get the list-o-stuff I forgot. Except for my last trip where the silence kept me awake. Coming from a big city living right off the interstate, silence was just disturbing. And then I remembered I forgot to tell my boss to…
🙂 Have fun camping. I can’t wait to see the photos from this trip.
Those restless nights are too familiar but I love the idea of some ground rules for bedtime!
And thank you for the most generous comment about lemon meringue pie — I agree! And no, I wasn’t offended. He said some nice things too!
I sleep like a baby in hotel rooms!
How wise of you to use your insomnia to write!