Book of D: I'm Back

I haven't posted in a while. Lots of things have happened. Life has been constant: it has been good, and as it goes, it has reminded us that often times it will be bad. Anyheow . . . I am back on campus working this week, so YAY. I was telecommuting for a long time -- that was great -- especially because I was paranoid of being around others, mostly due to so many people not taking Covid-19 seriously enough. But, that is totally beyond my control, all I can focus on is making sure I am taking the pandemic seriously and following CDC guidelines. Everything else will just fall into place -- good or bad. It's all out of my hands, and I have to learn to be okay with that.

Book of D: HER

...It happened again last night--right at 3 a.m. "Her" cries once again sent shivers up and down my spine. My cat was not in the great room with me this time to help justify what I was hearing; all I needed to help lend proof was for me to just listen and sit still. I was actually unable to move; frozen in time as if that would save me or hide me from this entity. I was too scared to be scared; if that makes sense. "Her" loud shrills of distress were all the proof I needed that I was not asleep. I was wide awake; I was experiencing her torment true to life. "Her" cries clearly enveloped a sort of torment that no one in this world should ever know.

Tonight, I find myself unable to sleep. I am once again in the great room reading one of my favorite books. It is just before 3 a.m., and I don't want to go to sleep and wake the rest of the family--because just as sure as I know the clock will strike that certain time of the morning, I know I will be awakened by "her" shrilling cries. I decide to take time to write all this down. I have the t.v. tuned to a channel that plays classical music. The kind I love to listen to when I study. I look around on occasion; something captures my attention high above the vaulted ceiling. It disappears. Maybe there was never anything there to begin with; who knows. I happen to notice the beautiful clock high above the wall that leads into the dining room; it's a family heirloom that I inherited from my late Mom. The clock is ticking rather loudly. Each tick reminds me that "her" cries are slowly progressing through the night. Soon the cries will reach me where I sit. Truth or dare I would play with the entity, but I am not so brave. I will stay up and listen. Perhaps my willingness to pay attention helps aid her in comfort somehow. I don't really know. It's just life happening as it sees fit for each of us humans; I guess life humors the lamented as well--that is if they ever lived in human form at all. The enigma continues. I'll write more later; I now have five minutes to prepare.