Quito

I’m sleeping better tonight.

It’s been a rough few weeks for sleep. Bad habits combined with stress compounded by Covid and a dash of post-nasal drip will do that.

I’m finally turning a corner.

I had almost forgotten what a night of uninterrupted sleep will do to a person.

Sharp. Alert. Patient.

Human.

It all follows.

I’m sleeping better tonight.

That is, until I receive an unexpected visitor. Unexpected, and uninvited.

My dream is of a journey. Making my way somewhere – by bicycle, maybe a concert? There’s a plane circling overhead, I think it’s looking for something.

Or someone.

I look up, shielding my eyes, tryiing to focus on the craft. It’s blurry, distorted. But I can hear its engine fade in

then out

and in.

Weird

That’s not the only thing about this engine that’s not quite right.

It’s the pitch.

Not the constant jet shhhhhhhhhhh of a commercial airliner, nor the buzzy marrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrrrr of a smaller prop plane.

This engine is uniquely high-pitched.

Exactly like a…

mosquito

crap

A few years in West Africa and a harrowing battle with malaria has made my subconscious reaction swift.

I shake out of my dream and sit up while simultaneously whapping my ear repeatedly.

It’s the rudest of awakenings.

I slowly exit my dream fugue and remember where I am.

It’s hot

I shake off the cover and stumble over to plug in the fan

And as I do, remember the African proverb:

If you think you’re too small to make a difference, you’ve never been in a dark room with a mosquito

The truth of this resonates deeply, tonight.

And, as I mumble and stumble my bleary wreckage over to the WC, I take solace in one thought

At least I’ve got something to write about.