Emily Rose

Eyes aflame, seemingly possessed, I roll myself off my bed once again into the dead of night - it is the witching hour I am sure, and I must do the bidding of my possessor - morning star or north wind, it depends on the side of the bed I rolled off.

There is conflict between my mind and my body as there often is - neither one has fully appreciated the finer points of Sun Tzu's Art of War; so aimlessly they battle on. My mind on this night, rather morning, won't allow my body to be prostrated.

I past practically the entire day asleep, it was like months of fatigue, fatigue of my humanness all came at me in a rush today. My body and soul demanded rest, and its appetite seemed insatiable, the more I slept the more I wanted to sleep.

And now, at this forsaken hour my writer calls on me - faithfully I oblige; rich blue blood pours from my Faber - Castell 0.7mm fine, my weapon of choice.

Today has been the better day of this past week, no agony, no immobilising chills brought on by a soaring temperature.

I am thankful for modern medicine and an ever vigilant wife.

Earlier this evening my mind was troubled with nostalgia, as it is on occasion (a sometimes unwelcomed consequence of being awake), but I take comfort in the fact that things past, are past for a reason, and what is present is what is most relevant. Collateral damage indeed - that parlor door swings both ways. In a game of chance who determines the winner(s) and the loser(s); it would be prudent to leave nothing to chance.

Here I am very much awake at 5:05am - wide awake, I have be awake now for more than 12 hours. This time I am not pleading for the good graces of the sandman, the fucker can hold his sand, nor am I awake tormented by rancor, depression, anger or any other vile sentiment.

I am awake because these emotions wore me down and the nights of insomnia finally caught up with me - I guess there is credence in that cliche that you can't run from your past. These distractions to life caught up with me and laid me to rest at a time when normal people go about active life. Slumber caressed me gently and repeatedly today, consolation for those sleepless nights I suppose; only so that I could stay up through the witching hour to write about it.

There is much purpose to my possession by this writer - he will not soon, if ever be exorcised.