I wrote this entire article before I finally abandoned the attempt to sleep, though of course, I lost most of it on the way downstairs. A pity, it was a brilliant piece as I was dictating it in my mind. Isn’t that always how it is, though? That, like the doorstep wisdom that allows us to find a perfect retort in only retrospect, is the sort of wry irony the mind seems to delight in occasionally.
It is three in the morning and I cannot sleep. I’ve tried for the past couple of hours but have tossed and turned, too warm in spite of the frozen night and my mind hovering around the edges of that odd lucidity that lies somewhere between consciousness and sleep.
By the time the kettle had boiled about all I had left of the mental article was that it spoke about Helen Keller. Firing up…
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