My head felt like lead when I woke up this morning, a pressure on my eyelids and an inability to move for a good minute or two. Obviously I haven’t been getting good sleep, even while I have been able to fall asleep, at whatever hour.

Forcing my eyes open, I grabbed my phone to check the time. 11:40. Best I be getting up and getting a shower, I decided. I liked the mid day inside. Probably the only time I didn’t mind being in my house. The outside was bright and cheerful, today a cloudy summer day that only hinted at a building haze that might shroud the afternoon. The sun was above the back patio by now and the house was dimly lit and cool, but not so dark that the shadows stretched long and deep. For once I feel comfortable.

That was, until I looked at the front window, above where I’d fallen asleep on the couch. It was closed. Immediately this struck me as odd – the days were working their way toward ninety (a quick change from snow nearly three weeks ago), and the nights were warm enough that often blankets were too thick, and it was standard of me to keep the window open when I finally went to sleep.

But now this morning it was closed against cool midday breezes that sometimes came drifting inside and often roused me.

Please don’t think I’m suggesting anything… supernatural. That would be ridiculous. And just what I need, ghosts. No, this just didn’t make sense. I didn’t remember closing the window, but I’m sure I did. Probably there were a couple drunks who wandered down the sidewalk and took to cavorting loudly, forcing me to close the window tight in a half-sleep I never fully awoke from. Likely.

But normally most ruckuses move along, and I have to wake up to figure out what’s happening to even decide to close the window. If the party was loud and refused to pass, it’s normally something I’d expect to note.

Yet my memory is empty, completely devoid of any such instance.

Another lose-lose situation it seems. If I’m certain that there was something prompting me to close the window, I don’t remember it, but on the other hand if it wasn’t I who closed the window, what did? Absurdities on both sides, memory loss (or sleepwalking – the thought made me shudder), or something that went bump in the night.

Stupid of me to dwell on it anyway. By the time I was up and moving, a cup of coffee and a shower past, the thought seemed ridiculous, irrelevant, inconsequential at the least. And after writing this I plan to let it slip my mind. There’s no use dwelling on it, no use at all. I’m being driven mad enough without worrying about the little things.

Even though, as they say, it’s God who’s in the details.