I had a Dougie at the ready before being detoured by a question from a reader: Am I counting down my sleeps until June 14.
The answer is no because the date marks the end of my tutoring gig and not my departure from the state of Washington.
The query about sleep got me laughing and crying – take your pick. I’m still trying to get some sleep. Nearly three years after moving in.
The following is true, a story shared with my one hand on the Bible and the other raised in a court of law. You may believe or disbelief but you cannot discount the forces outside the perceptions and comprehension of the mortal mind. One need only listen to life to be aware of the existence of things not seen and unseeable.
When I moved in on August 9, 2008, it was with the excitement at the various improvements taking shape in my life and the immense relief at having left a very abusive and hostile arrangement.
I arrived with hope and optimism, a song in the heart and my possessions for a small basement studio in a building 97 years of age in the historic original quarters of Tacoma.
Like many studio dwellers, I was challenged by the peculiarities of an aged apartment and the designs and confines of the space.
In the first month, I rearranged the room half a dozen times to create flow, harmony and pleasing aesthetics.
I had the bed in one corner. I slept okay, not great. I attributed that to upheaval in residence.
In the acuity of hindsight, I sensed something that I can describe now only as “something stirring in the rafters.”
The room didn’t work; in particular, I didn’t like the bed being the first (if not only) thing seen upon entering. So I moved it to the only other corner where it could go.
The bed in its new location brought an immediate change. It vastly improved the workability and flow of the apartment. At what cost.
Immediately I began having sleep disturbances. I write that too lightly.
Very serious, fucked-up, intense and disruptive sleep disorders.
Suddenly I was unable to sleep through a night. I began experiencing frequent nightmares and being awakened between 3 and 4 a.m., in the darkest hour, in the presence of spirits and under their stares. Cold and unfriendly and intimidating visits by those associated with the apartment who had passed over and not moved on. There was not one, neither one particularly more discernible than another. They appeared en masse, a gathering of etheric matter of individuals hovering. Some nights after being awakened I could not move.
I had never in the huge number of residences inhabited and spaces visited during this lifetime experience or encountered anything like this.
Think I’ll stop here. Writing this is suddenly bothering me. I’ll resume later. My apologies for leaving anyone sincerely interested in this phenomenon, ummm, hanging.
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Later: I am not going to finish the story here; neither will I delete the unfinished post for its value. Instead, I will close with a few brief comments. As I never believed nor disbelieved in curses until I lived in Las Cruces, similarly I neither believed nor disbelieved in the power of spirits and ghosts to inhabit and haunt a residence until I lived in one. To the original question that prompted this post – am I counting down the sleeps until June 14 – no I am not. Two years and 10 months and waiting for the sandman.
Good day, good afternoon and good night, wherever you may be …