3 a.m.

I should be in bed, but I am not. I have not felt well today, or yesterday either for that matter: a little lightheaded, a little unsteady. I’m not sure what it is, if it’s a bug I’ve managed to catch or some internal imbalance of my body’s own making, but it’s unpleasant and unsettling. I am not one to fall ill easily, and so when I do find myself feeling unwell, it’s usually a sign of something severely unpleasant which is to come.

Not always, however. I must remember that and not convince myself of the arrival of an impending illness that might not roll into town.

And yet here I am, wrapped in a warm blanket and curled up on my sofa, listening to an old concert of Bruce Springsteen’s from the 1970s, something Nikola had slipped into my mailbox the other day while I was out, and I am drinking tea and considering getting up and going to bed. I am so comfortable out here however, and the Boss is singing of desperate love and moonlit escapes down unlit broken streets, and I find the motivation to get off the sofa and climb the steps to my room slipping further and further away.

So maybe tonight I will sleep here and see if the healing powers of Springsteen and the thick cocoon of my blanket will bring me back from the brink.

There is healing everywhere, if you open yourself to it.