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Sunday, September 22, 2013

Wretchedly Tired, 3rd Night.

Insomnia is awful. 

You lie for hours in the dark, trying various ruses to lull yourself asleep, and nothing works.

You listen to your heart beating in the silence and wonder if it is supposed to sound like that?  (Which doesn't add to your sense of calm.) 

You get up numerous times to empty your bladder, get water, have a snack, wash your feet, check some random fact on the internet that you've been mulling over and over--all in an effort to trick your body into drifting into unconsciousness--and the hours inexorably, consciously pass.  You find yourself obsessively checking humor websites for cute pictures of fuzzy animals, but you are too tired to laugh.

You get more and more shaky--you feel too hot, your familiar bed doesn't welcome you, you move your pillows here and there at random.  You know you have to get up in just a little while, and you can't doze off. 

You finally take a rare dose of sleep meds, but that dosage that worked several months ago doesn't even cause you to yawn.  You think about doubling up, but your last lingering shred of good sense makes you afraid of accidentally overdoing it, and ending up in a permanent sleep (without the Hollywood starlet headlines but more of the unpleasantness for friends and loved ones).  And besides, you aren't suicidal, just sleep-deprived!  It's the middle of the night, and you know in your current condition you aren't safe to drive to the CVS to ask the pharmacist for something over the counter that won't permanently debilitate or addict you, but will knock you out.  And there's so much you need to do during daylight hours, which minute by minute are getting closer! 

My last several nights have been miserable due to insomnia, and during what should be wakeful time, I've either been desperately napping (what little sleep I get has not been high-quality) or wandering around like an amnesiac ghost, trying to accomplish a few of the things on my "to do" list, including making jewelry (talk about an absolute lack of novel ideas these days!), pricing moving services (the first option I found was $165...an hour! Two days of that would be more than my possessions are worth.), and chatting up friends in a hope of finding other job opportunities (but right now I'm not coherent enough to apply for any, even if I remembered what the names of the companies were--they're written down somewhere). 

My chest feels like I have a weight resting on it, but there are no cats to blame here, just the tension that comes from a third consecutive night of being unable to sleep.  I hate this! 

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