All the invisible people

Humans have the capacity to get used to anything.

When we moved from a relatively quiet neighborhood to a house on a major national road, with a bus stop practically at our doorstep, light sleeper that I was, I had a lot of difficulties of getting a decent night sleep. Two years on, I started waking up every Sunday morning before sunrise, the kind of waking one does when the cat swipes something from the table during the night, the sort of waking one does when something is wrong. Turned out the bus schedule changed and the first bus on Sunday morning was abolished. Five to ten minutes after that bus would have passed, my brain jerked me awake. Danger danger!

Shit rains down every day, it becomes normal.
I read somewhere Syrian children don't even cry when there's explosions and dead people everywhere. All part of normal everyday shit.

I've come to terms with the people living in the ceiling and the walls. The ones that through invisible electric lightning beams torture my mom with a little pain in her big toe, or elbow. Like a woman in labor I breathe through it, trying to listen if the people in the ceiling or the walls aren't hiding something important. Does her big toe hurt, or is it just a spasm? Is she tired, or did she forget to eat? Maybe I should simply ask them, the people that live in the ceiling or the wall, then the circle would be complete.

She worries, she does, about what the invisible people do when she's not home and she can't keep an eye on them.

I nod, and I breathe in, breathe out.