The reason I failed to write last night, is what I am thankful for today.

Sleep.

Sleep; that elusive, evasive, enraging element that when lacking erodes sanity and leaves us on the cusp of a dangerous precipice; torn between keeping our balance and shepherding sheep which have wandered too close to the edge back to solid ground.

It is the moment between falling asleep and startling awake where I spend most of my nights

As someone with anxiety, my mind is always racing.

Always running from subject to subject, thought to thought, worst case scenario to catastrophe.

I lay awake in bed, long past the witching hour.

The witching hour…..which causes me to ponder the unjust fates of Sarah Good, John Proctor and Giles Corey.

Giles Corey, whose death by pressing leaves me gasping silently for breath as I struggle to keep from screaming out under the perceived weight of such, suddenly (in my mind) vastly important questIons such as “How much weight constitutes a stone?” “Which members of the Rolling Stones are still alive?” And speaking of alive…….”Is the Spiny Anteater still on solid ground or have we lost then forever to the steep fall off of the precipice we call extinction?”

I wrestle alone with these sorts of thoughts most nights while my husband snores blissfully unaware at my side and dogs at my feet dream of chasing squirrels.

Last night I laid down just to “rest my eyes” and woke up this morning having little recollection of anteaters or stones.

Remembering only the bleating of sheep as I counted them (one, two, three,) over fences, failed to shepherd them to solid ground, followed them over the precipice, over the edge and into the void….