The Longest Day

If I seem like I'm blogging a lot . . . well, I am. And one reason for this is because I am no longer sleeping. I mean seriously, I've given it up. The 14-hour miracle nap has evaporated from my life like it never existed. Since the move all I've got in me is this 3-5 hour trance that makes my alarm clock obsolete . . . and this week, even that is on hiatus. After years of empty promises, my sleep cells have gone on the European vacation without me.

I can't sleep. I REALLY can't sleep. I can't remember the last time I had insomnia this bad. Though if I look into the blog archives I can probably find out pretty quick.

Last night after my final round up blog I read two of Morley's short stories, watched a half-hour of tv, decided I liked the lights the way I had them the first time, finished folding the laundry, did the few dishes I had dirtied throughout the evening, went to bed, turned out the lights and laid there drumming my fingers on the wall for about an hour. Got up, turned on the computer, worked on bnm for awhile, played games on Pogo, listened to music, tried to write on the new short story but after failing miserably went into files and found old stories, started typing them up, editing as I go, found a file I had started on workshops (timely!) and started planning what I'll do for my workshop, read more poetry . . . went back to bed. Rolled around some more. Turned on tv, watched a movie with Paul Newman, Pop-Cultured and Everybody Loves Raymond. Turned off tv. No lights necessary as it was well into daylight. Closed eyes. Rolled around some more. Sang songs and hummed. Read fiction in New Yorker magazine, cursed and threw magazine across the room (why is this magazine so difficult to get into when some of this stuff is REALLY bad?), got up, showered and went to work as if I had slept like a baby. Not even tired. Second night in a row with no sleep. None!

This afternoon I've got a headache, not a migraine . . . yet, but it could work up to that. I've got that same feeling I get after being on the train for a day travelling to Toronto. A little buzz in my brain. Things seem fuzzy around the edges, not quite in focus, yet I'm wide awake! You couldn't force my eyes shut using both hands, all your fingers and sticky tape, they're so widely opened. It's times like these I seriously wonder if I'm not caught up in some sort of manic state, am I chemically imbalanced? Must I seek psychiatric help? Should I be medicated?

I hate when this happens. And when does this happen anyway? Is there a pattern I'm missing? Is it because I've got so much work to do? Because I've got so many ideas swirling in my little peanut brain? Because I'm a little bit stressed about being unplugged for the better part of three days? Because I've got all these meetings and commitments and things coming up? Already I'm wondering about missing my bus on Sunday morning . . . being so overtired that I completely crash and miss the Fundy excursion. If I'm not at the bus station in Moncton, will they drive to Sackville and wake me up? And when I do get there, am I going to sleep through the whole thing? Not likely. I will drink through the whole thing . . . sleep, probably not so much. And given that, will I be the crazy shoe-pelting stressed out sister this time?

I'm full of questions. It probably sounds like I'm bouncing off the walls here, caught up in a neurotic frenzy. I'm not, I'm actually quite calm, quite laid-back as usual, just kind of quietly not sleeping and wondering what to do next to try and make myself more tired. The weather is no co-operating with a walk to the liquor store. And perhaps that is the answer . . . it's been at least a week without wine . . . without any alcohol sustenance of any kind . . . maybe my body is revolting, staging a labour strike.

Mood: comfortably numb
Drinking: coffee of course, though maybe i should ease back on the caffeine for a bit
Listening To: The Beatles, Paperback Writer
Hair: needing some TLC