Sleep. Glorious. My special discipline. If there were an Olympiad, I would be the undisputed leader for the next few years. Put me somewhere and I'll sleep. 6, 8, 12 hours. I am flexible. Just until I wake up again. The longer, the better. Understood. But sometimes it just does not work. And there are days when that's just fine.
Air conditioning? Running. Inability to adjust them properly? Highest available. Without too warm, with too cold. In between awake. Just awake. Terribly sweaty. Or freezing and then constantly looking for this blanket. But that's gone. Not to be found, with eye slits, which only with difficulty in the 16: 9 format look into the semi-darkness. Then I find her. Has crawled under the bed to protect himself from the cold. Reunited, things are going better. But not long. You can rely on vicious circles. But I'm still unable to make any of this.
Weekend. The city is celebrating. Sings. Laughs. Buzzing. Just make sounds like that. Not bad, but distracts from sleep. In my mind I am there and because of joy of life is not sleeping. However, too tired to get up and go. So listen again. Dogs. Also full of joy and full of sounds. Sometimes more sometimes less. Most beautiful monotony. Now? Now! I sneak over the threshold and I'm off. Again on. Off. On. Heat. Then wind. Shakes at the shutters. Will go into the room, whistle through all the cracks. Try to blow the house off the mountain. Do not succeed. Then the morning. Still blue, with moon, but there. Full of sparrows too. Hundreds. Chirping loudly and happily, as if there were only this one occasion. To scream out into the world what burns on the soul. I give up. Stick your head out of the window and listen. Enjoy the view of the city, the harbor. The sun is rising and I am happy. Overjoyed. Because there are hardly any morning moments like these in my life. Hardly ever. I should change that.
Tarrafal de Monte Trigo
Heat here too. Clearly. Air conditioning senseless without windows. Both shine by absence. For a touch of scare. A little bit of it. Every evening from 23 o'clock. The electricity switches off and the light goes out. Automatically. Then it is dark. Stock Finster. In the middle of an oasis the room. Only fabric curtains separate it from the world out there. Where spiders live. Naturally. Maybe they come in. To us. I know they do it. The surf of the Atlantic helps me. Distract me and wash away the thought. Does that very loud and also robs sleep. Waves throw themselves ashore. With all your might. Over and over again. The sea is not far away. Only a few meters. Again sleep by monotony. Or exhaustion. Mosquitoes stinging. Luckily without humming. Disturbing later, when they are long gone. For that point 4.30 o'clock the cock. Lives next door to his flock of chickens and has to speak up. Every morning and quite detailed. Then call again later. And again. He has recognized the potential that lies dormant in me as I get up early again and start a day full of new stories. And happy again.