29 March 2002
I sit here in what used to be my room, with my feet resting on the case of my mum's pc, a sleeping cat by my side.
An open bottle of Archers Aqua Lime stands on the table, two thirds full.
In the low light, a red LED glows, indicating that the baby monitor is working, not that I need a visual indicator.
I sit and listen to his laboured breathing. I listen to the silence when he stops, and stop and strain to hear him start again.
I can hear the traffic going past on the main road, and in the fields beyond the cows Walton-esque round of goodnight wishes echoes across the inky stillness.
It's cold here. Colder than I remember. I think about going downstairs to get my cardigan, but I'm as comfortable as I've been all day, and reluctant to move.
I listen to let my mum sleep, she desperately needs it, and after all, I usually can't get to sleep before 3 am.
Usually.
Every other line, my view of the monitor is obscured by my eyelids drooping shut, or a mammoth yawn.
I'm so very, very tired... but I'm not the only one, and so I listen.
when there's nothing to say, i generally offer (((hugs))). take care.
My thoughts and prayers are with you.
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
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