Wednesday, July 06, 2011
It is the hour of the wolf. A Nordic tale that speaks of a wolf that stalks outside people's doors between the hour it is darkest just before dawn. It is the time when the greatest of nightmares seem the most real and life clings to itself for fear of losing grip. You can't sleep, and all you can see is the troubles and the problems and the ways that your life should've gone but didn't. All you can hear is the sound of your own heart. I've often been awake through this time. I've practiced methods of trying to scare the wolf off or hide from the wolf. Were I to come from a family who drank, this would probably be the time to do so. So I take suggestions from other lore. One large glass of vodka before bed and three very small sips of vodka, just in case the wolf had babies. I'll curl up on my bed, no breeze coming through the window, city soundscapes and the absence of chirping. If I had a cigarette I would smoke it. Instead, with no blanket to cover me I will clutch my book and take deep breaths and let the vodka help me along.