What Keeps You Up At Night?

I woke at 5am this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. I lay in the dark and contemplated life.

It is never the things I do that screw me up, although exposing myself to Auntie Dawn that time getting out of the pool wasn’t my finest moment – purely unintentional, I don’t want you to think I am some kind of pervert. She told the world I was a ‘big lad’ with wide eyes, always followed by that 100 a day cigarette habit wheeze, which doubled as a laugh. 

(All the old aunts, they are all pretty much gone now, love them or hate them, they were something)

Or, there was that time I wore that crocheted scarf my sister made me to match my jumper to my dad’s cricket club, without giving it any thought. It was maroon, made from left over wool from the jumper my nana knitted me, with long white wool tassels my sister added as her contribution to my sartorial elegance. Dad’s mate Peter Robby spotted me straight up in the car park and asked me, 

“Jesus Christ, what kind of flamin’ are ya?” Which was, actually, a blessing because otherwise I would have walked, flounced, into the club rooms still thinking I looked fabulous.

(Naked men en mass, my fourteen year old eyes can still picture them in that club room. I can still remember what they smelt like)

No, they are not the things that stop me from sleeping, even if they do produce a wince upon reflection.

No.

It is the things I didn't do that keep my staring at the ceiling in the dark until the wee, small hours, or until the sun comes up.