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Jun 06, 2019 23:59:13

The Temple Dancer

by @zainabmirza | 231 words | 🐣 | 32💌

Zainab Mirza

Current day streak: 0🐣
Total posts: 32💌
Total words: 11709 (46 pages 📄)

There's a headache dancing on my temples and it refuses to go away.

A headache has been visiting me every evening for the past three days, outstaying its welcome (hah, as though a headache is ever welcome) well into the night as I toss and turn on my bed, trying to find a cool spot on a pillow drenched and reeking of lavender essential oil (which has finally failed to put me to sleep), agonizing over every minute of lost sleep, as the window of my ambitious plan to finally sleep for eight hours is slammed shut on my face.

Water yourself, a friend says. Meaning, drink water. I down a glass hoping to drown the temple dancer but she is relentless. I drink more water than most people I know anyway, and would burst if I had anymore.

I wonder if the hypnosis apps I've been researching are worth their salt. But it's 3 AM and I don't have an app downloaded, and I want to avoid looking at a screen lest the temple dancer puts on more of a show.

I play the Nothing Much Happens: Bedtime Stories for Adults podcast hoping the latest episode is as boring as ever and will lull the dancer. It works. After about 20 minutes, I feel my eyes closing, the dancer fading away, silently biding her time, waiting to resume her show tomorrow night. 

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