Cables

You were exhausted. You were sure your lights would go out as soon as your head touched the pillow. But it didn't go that way. Someone winched up the wires of anxiety and torqued them so tight you just lay there, banjo-string wound up, catatonic, staring at the ceiling fan, listening to the cat snore. You can't go on like this you think. Your mind is wrapped in knots and your neck is a study in steel cables. You just can't seem to get anything done, or to focus, or to figure out what is supposed to happen next. So you get up and sit in the dark. Hours go by. You try to penetrate the fog with no luck. When it's time, you rise to go to work. A red moon rests just above the thigh of a ridge in the western sky.