Last night, this morning, the early dark hours of the almost-day when all are sleeping,

and what awakenings that may happen are only somehow, foggily, hazily remembered in the

bright glaring light of morning rush and rituals and coffee steaming in a mug.  The remembered, dreaded nightmare,

cauchemar, pesadilla, incubo,

that this morning fills my mind and soul with cobwebs and left-over shudders of horror

left unchecked in my dreams.

The thief of my serenity shall not, must not, return tonight.

Ugly, loud, unceasing, and repetitive,

that bête noire of yestereve...

I ponder, plot, scheme today - what can I do to

not relive this, ever?

This past night of unceasing, unchecked horror?

This horror that I could not stop by means fair or foul,

as I rose, sleep-fogged, clumsy, bitter in what should have been the hours of my unfettered sleep.

What? How?

HOW?

And it comes to me, as the brighter, clarifying

light of day shines full on my face...

I must remember to turn the alarms off on the children's
new clocks before I go to bed!