At 4:54 AM, I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine, atop a lopsided mound of pillows and beneath a throw blanket. The light was on and so was the television, playing an infomercial about miracle cactus juice (first bottle free! with a small charge for shipping and handling). Between the blanket and the pillow, my left leg burned with a sharp, piercing ache. At some point I had fallen asleep, somewhere near the end of
Sixteen Candles, when my parents were still in the room with me. When I woke up, it had ended, and I was alone. I turned the channel to
House Hunters International and fell asleep again. That was hours prior. Now, I heaved myself up to get some water and take more painkillers. I was struck by a sudden, intense stab of loneliness. The house was dark and quiet. I wanted to talk to someone, but 5 AM is a ghost's hour: too late even for the night owls, too early for the early risers. My phone, in bed beside me, was dark and silent. There was nothing to do but change the channel again, try to find a narrative to drive out the isolation.
And there's the thing about pain: you have to deal with it alone. That's how you get stronger. That's how you heal.
(It was a jellyfish, the last day at the beach. It hurt a lot. I was a wimp. But overall, the week was good! How was yours?)
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