The Sleepwalker

Self wrote a story about a sleepwalker.  It’s a strange and quiet story.  But perhaps it needs more work, for there hasn’t been a nibble in a year of sending out.

Which leads self to the impulse that made her post:  there have been cities where her insomnia was almost overwhelming.  One of these cities was Hong Kong, which she last visited in 2006.  There was such a buzz in her head, but she forced herself to walk around.  That was the last trip she and Sole Fruit of Her Loins ever took together.

The five nights she spent in Berlin were not bad, by comparison.

In Scotland, last summer, self relaxed.  Something about the sunset coming so late, something about knowing there were other writers nearby, only a floor above.  Once, self went up there, to the top floor, and it felt like a dormitory:  everyone was still awake, at 2 a.m.  Self dragged her blanket with her, up the circular stairs.  “What’s the matter?  What’s the matter?” everyone asked.  She slept so peacefully in Scotland.

In Bacolod, she does not sleep peacefully.  Her nerves are jangly.  But it doesn’t matter, because the hotels have 24-hour masahistas.  Such a place!  She loves Bacolod.  Please, please give her masahe, right now!

When she was 11, she went to Europe as part of a Children’s International Summer Village delegation from the Philippines:  four children and an adult chaperone.  Self remembers vividly all the countries she visited:  the Netherlands, Austria, Italy, and her delegation’s final destination, England.  She was so thrilled by her first sight of the Roman coliseum, the Forum, and Venice!  She remembers going for a night-time gondola ride, and all the gondolas arranged around a circular floating stage, festooned with lights, and a woman singing into the sultry air, and self feeling she would never ever experience anything like it in her entire life (and she hasn’t).  She remembers the twisting alleyways, the laundry hanging from tall, narrow houses, the blur of pigeons in San Marco Square.  She even remembers the dress she always seems to be wearing, in her memories of Venice:  a short white shift, with a small red, white and blue anchored on a wee pocket, just below her right shoulder.

She’s decided to bring her Old Navy red pea coat (the one that she bought a few months ago, for $14.99!).  She loves red anything.  She bought a similar coat when she was in Edinburgh.  Margarita says it will still be cold.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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