Clemson Chick's blog: "This is what a woman really wants"

She can hear the water dripping off in the distance. It's annoying but not what's keeping her awake. Lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling that she cannot see in the darkness, there is only one thought. Her heart hurts. Pressed for specifics, she couldn't tell you why. Things have been good recently. Work, school, and the kids have kept her busy, allowing her to use her mind on something other than the thoughts. She comes home and is physically and mentally exhausted. A hot shower soothes her and her cool sheets invite her to find the path to a restful night's sleep. She waits for the sleep to come. The water is still dripping. Her chest feels like it is constricting. The memories pour in. The doubt and the fear. She rolls over onto her left side, tucks her folded hands under her cheek. The first tear slides out of the corner of her eye, wetting the back of her hand. She has developed a rich fantasy life, one that removes her from her stark and lonely reality. But the nights come, the nights like this one, and the fantasies crumble inward, revealing the frantic little man pulling the strings. She knows it is all fake, but the confrontation is jarring, nonetheless. She curls her legs up to her chest and removes a hand from under her cheek, wrapping it around her knees. She hugs herself when there is no one else to perform the task. It doesn't help. The tears have brought on the snot. She snuffles it back, nearly choking on it. Her chest heaves. Her entire body shudders and she succumbs to the sobs. She reminds herself that it will soon be over, the pain. Once she has shed the needed amount of tears, the pain will be replaced with a dull ache. The ache is better than the pain. It is the sign that she is still alive, although she fails to see the positive side in that while in the middle of her crying spell. It is more than an hour before her sniffles dry up. Her eyes are itchy and the skin beneath them feels engorged with fluid. She knows the puffiness will be gone in the morning, if she can manage to get herself to fall asleep. Sleep. A way of escape. She begs it to come quickly. She claws with her mind and reaches into herself, calling out to it. It does not disappoint her. It is the only thing in her life that never has.