2:22 a.m.

It never fails anymore, I take a nap before I sleep and set an alarm to wake me to take my night medications… I’m epileptic and like a bolt I am woken from a dreamless sleep pale and still exhausted to another 2:22 a.m.   I wish I wasn’t so exhausted all of the time!  Seriously, it’s getting old to have to sleep before you can sleep.  Saturdays are lovely because I can sleep right through them.

I promised a friend to be honest with the G.I. Doctor about possible clotting disorder.  Maybe there are a better pair of genes out there I can trade for?  In the meantime, I’m  stuck living with the one that I have and remembering how Gwendolyn Brooks once signed my book Blacks right on the poem “to the infirm.”

Everbody here
is infirm.
Everybody here is infirm.
Oh. Mend me. Mend me. Lord.

Today I
say to them
say to them
say to them, Lord:
look! I am beautiful, beautiful with
my wing that is wounded
my eye that is bonded
or my ear not funded
or my walk all a-wobble.
I’m enough to be beautiful.

You are
beautiful too. (Gwendolyn Brooks)

… I never did find the song she mentioned Hold On by Mahalia Jackson.

G’night…

Jo

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