{"id":729,"date":"2026-03-15T18:17:52","date_gmt":"2026-03-15T18:17:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/?p=729"},"modified":"2026-03-19T13:56:43","modified_gmt":"2026-03-19T13:56:43","slug":"ides","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/?p=729","title":{"rendered":"Ides"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
On Saturday night my father had joked:
\u201cYou know, tomorrow is the fifteenth.
Beware the curse \u2014 the Ides of March!<\/em>
The dinner party, which had featured
a circle of family and loved ones, had
all laughed, groaned, rolled their eyes.

I woke up today, Sunday the fifteenth,
at seven thirty-two a.m.
Quite late for me, an elderly millennial.
The second my feet hit wood floor
a raging headache tore through my skull.

\"Uh oh,\" I uttered, at which I realized,
Oh no. <\/em>I think. Even talking hurts.<\/em>
What\u2019s going on with me? What's off?<\/em>
I then recall, that I\u2019d tried my first
doctor-prescribed sleep aid 
before tucking in last night\u2014ughh<\/em>.

She\u2019d told me 
at the appointment
she'd prescribe me
a beginner's dose.

\"You know, sixty percent 
of my patients love this!
And about forty percent\u2014
well, it\u2019s not for them.\" 

\"Try it on a weekend night, 
and if you like it, great! 
And if you don\u2019t? 
Eh. Throw it out.\"

With her kind voice 
and casual shrugs, 
she'd made it 
sound so simple.

And now, 
I suspect I know 
which group I belong to: 
the Mortal Forty.

I manage to pull myself down
the stairs, one thump at a time
I blearily punch buttons 
on the coffee machine
'til a cup of brew streams out.

I sloppily ready our kid for church.
I drive with ginger touch to my mom\u2019s.
I wait for her to emerge from the door.
I shut my eyes, seeking slight comfort.

Then I beg my kid 
to text Grandma,
and she does: 
\u201cLike can you drive? 
Mommy\u2019s sorta tired.\u201d

I heave myself 
out of the door, 
go to passenger seat, 
gently tuck myself in.
I\u2019m feeling worse than ever, 
not sure that I'll make it; 
I guess I might not.

She arrives, 
takes my keys and seat.
She drives us all 
to Congregation for services.

When we park, 
instead of the church lot,
she drives us deep into 
a chichi neighborhood.

She instructs:
\u201cDi, you\u2019re staying here, 
you can't come in. 
Get some rest.\u201d

And this sounds 
great,
a relief, 
really.

But then we realize
this isn't the type of 'hood
to condone sleeping strangers
loafing creepily, looking ill,
in an unknown car.

\u201cYou\u2019re gonna have to hide,\u201d
Mom says helpfully. 
My teen grins: \"How awkward!\"
\"Ugh, mrghhphle<\/em>\" I reply.

They take off for service; 
I strategize.
I need to \u201chide,\" and soon.
That means transporting
myself into the relative 
privacy of the tinted glass rows.

This means crawling
into the back seat \u2014 
or the far-back cargo hold.

I weigh my options: 
Lie across three contoured seats,
tall seat belt stalks digging into 
my tender ribs? 

Or lay flat on a rubber mat with
edges that prohibit a full extension?
I pick the mat in the way back, 
which I instantly regret.

I did not fully calculate 
how cold it would be
in the SUV trunk, 
which lacks floor insulation.

But now 
I\u2019m committed, 
so I stay, 
shivering.

I hear froufrou ladies
walk by on a morning circuit. 

I peek up.
I can tell by their 
Lululemon jackets 
and leggings
and fancy trainers
that they would not hesitate
to call the cops on me.

I cower down. 
Don't peer in!<\/em>

\u201cThis is ridiculous,\u201d I exclaim,
prompting me to remember 
that mere talking hurts 
like knives penetrating cranium.

I slip on my daughter\u2019s 
neon pink hoodie, 
the overpriced one 
she'd begged for.

I hide my eyes 
under my wrist.
I try for long minutes
without success
to fall asleep; no luck. 

Too soon, they\u2019re back. 
Mom drives me in silence
back to my parent's house.
\"OK your turn, you ready?\"
She hands me the keys.
I stare dejectedly. \"Umm..\"
She sighs. \"Okay, let's go.\"

Next thing I know, our trio
is back at my house 
miles away.

And I'm getting into PJs
I am lying down,
my pale skin to pillow.

I fade in and out from there
never quite sleeping but 
also not lucid, ever.

What have I done, Di?! <\/em>
I think. I add with conviction:
And this is why I've never
and will never do drugs.<\/em>

I manage to stay conscious 
until a mid-proper nine p.m.
I hoist myself into bed:
\"By my own bootstraps!\" 
I chuckle blandly to myself.
I slip on my sleep mask.

At length, 
I fall into a sleep
pierced by
strange dreams.

\"Beware the Ides of March.\"
Clearly the warning applies
to more than Julius Caesar. 
I won't laugh next year \u2014 
March 15th, I've my eye on you!
<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cIdes,\u201d a dark humor accounting of my run-in with a Dr.-prescribed low dose sleeping medicine on the most dangerous day of the year. Written March 15, poem 074 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: “Poppin’ Pills, OK M&Ms,” Photo by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":736,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,262,200,4,2],"tags":[202,330,191,38,333,258,132,9,252,232,56,11,329,328,332,331,334,70],"class_list":["post-729","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-2026-poetry-challenge","category-dry-humor","category-humor","category-long-form-musings","category-poems","tag-aging","tag-being-old","tag-church","tag-community","tag-cultural-norms","tag-dry-humor","tag-family","tag-humor","tag-ides-of-march","tag-march","tag-mother-daughter-dynamics","tag-relationships","tag-side-effects","tag-sleeping-medicine","tag-stranger","tag-sunday","tag-surviving","tag-women"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/729","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=729"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/729\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":764,"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/729\/revisions\/764"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/736"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=729"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=729"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dianaludwick.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=729"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}