It began with a tickle on the uppermost crest of my ear.
Not too much of a tickle to cause a disturbance, I thought, but enough to make me think about it--and enter into the vicious cycle of tickly ears. The more emphasis the brain places on the tickle, the more I realize that the ear has iterated itself into the bane of my sleep. My pillow is too warm, my room is too warm.
I went hiking yesterday. The Crowsnest Pass was not too difficult, but it did amount to 6 hours in the gawking sun. In typical Albertan fashion, those brief moments of relief when the Sun passes behind a ball of white fluff were not applicable; yesterday, there was not one cloud in the wide sky. Did I remember to apply sunscreen that day? Sure I did (I hope), but if not, I'm not one that burns too easily. It was foolish of me to believe that I am immune. I did get singed on the uppermost crest of my ear, not too much to cause a disturbance, but enough to make me think about it.
Back to my bed: I can still hear the wall clock tick-tocking away. He laughs at my inability to sleep. Tick--my eyes are heavy. Tock--Wait, I wonder what time it is? Does it matter? Yes, yes, I have to get up at six tomorrow morning. Why did I leave the noisy clock on my wall? It's nights like these that remind me that I should switch the clock in my bedroom with the silent one in the kitchen. In the morning I will forget. These sleepy moments are not exactly conducive to memory formation.
I am not a back sleeper, but will try it for tonight. Tomorrow I will rise at six, and examine my ear in the mirror.
