Embarrassing secret #75

As long as I can remember I’ve always had trouble falling asleep, maybe the cause being insomnia. I’ve tried every remedy short of taking a sleeping pill every night. One of my favorite “remedies” was taught to me by my mother. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was about five or six and very upset. My mother sat at the edge of my bed speaking soothing words but still I stayed awake. My dear mother, never showing her frustration, told me a story about my Grandfather and his shiny black car and I instantly fell asleep. I still have trouble falling asleep most nights but the process is much easier when I tell myself a story or make up a story. Sometimes an idea for a story pops up during the day and I “research” parts of the storyline to keep my plots as real as possible.

So, now that I’m totally embarrassed and turning every shade of red you all know one of my secrets. My current story involves a copper mine. I wanted to see for myself how these types of mines worked, specifically with trams running in and out of the mine. More often than not, the photos I found (online) were of old log cabins or decaying homes (near the mines) that were left for what ever reason.

Getting to the point of this post…when I look at these broken down homes I feel such a huge sense of loss and a strong desire to know that the people who once lived there turned out okay. Is this normal? Am I just a nutty fool? Why can’t I see the houses as old houses instead of someone’s dear old home? Why can’t I ever feel or be indifferent? My heart always feels like it’s being tugged in a million directions.

Okay, I’m shutting up now.