It feels a little wrong to say that I’m thankful for sedatives. I’d never even been under the influence of them until today, and – whoa. There are parts of the day I don’t remember. I’m non compos mentis until tomorrow at 4 p.m., legally unable to sign things. Yay! I’m gonna buy a boat!
Until then, enjoy some Eric… Whatshisname. Whitacre. Good grief, I really do need to go back to bed.
Our chorus in Glasgow sang this at a policeman’s memorial service two years ago, and it was both soothing and beautiful and poignant.
Sleep. Un-remembering. The pause button that resets the brain,
“—the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.” (Macbeth, Act 2, Scene 2, pg. 3)
And for this, I am indeed thankful.