So Thursday night I was asleep before 2am which, if you follow my escapades, is a decent time for me, normal, good for rest. I try not to do the alarm thing unless absolutely necessary (like to make sure I get the garbage out on Wednesday morning). For the most part though I try to let my body wake on its own. If I end up sleeping 14 hours every now and then that's fine, I figure my body must need the rest. Usually though I'm asleep somewhere between two and three and I wake up on my own around 10. I'm fairly consistent.
Anyway, Thursday night it kind of felt like I even went to bed a little early and I was so tired I was out as soon as I hit the sack, fell into a deep sleep. Woke yesterday morning before 9am feeling like I had been run over by an 18-wheeler in the night. Dragged my sorry ass out of bed though because it was Friday and I had meetings to attend and wits to collect about me beforehand and most importantly On-Air with Ryan Seacrest (no Ryan's Roses yesterday, unless I missed it, and it seemed almost to be a repeat show, tho they never announced that it was, weird). I was a frigging zombie all day, yawning and finding it really difficult to concentrate. I could not wait to go back to bed! Contemplated taking a nap, but decided it might screw up my system, better to sleep at bedtime.
And then somehow I ended up in front of the tv through Letterman and my favourite guy, Craig Ferguson. And as if that wasn't late enough I got sucked into an episode of What Not to Wear. Then I went to bed and read for at least an hour. I could've read longer, but I was dangerously close to seeing dawn and that would've been too crazy when I had been so tired all day long. So heading into 5am I fell asleep and dreamed wicked dreams of tornados and family gatherings and writing stories for bnm.
I woke at a quarter to six, alert and thinking it was time to rise and shine. Too early. Back to sleep and dreams of ball games and collaborating on bnm stories with my sisters. Seemed like I had been asleep forever when I looked at the clock again, a quarter to seven. Still too early. Asleep I continued writing stories for bnm and doing a line-up and working on a media kit. Surely it was time to get up now I thought. 7:30. Damn! It's Saturday! I don't have to get up that early. Back to sleep and again to the ballpark and the tournament and interviewing players with my sisters, fighting with my sisters about how to construct the stories, and then the tornado strikes and rips the shack we're in right out of the ground and I feel the wind all around me. 8:30. I give up. Rise and shine!
What is up with that? I was so tired and then I barely sleep. And now I'm not tired at all. And the dreams. Always the frigging dreams. But no moon to justify them now is there? Curious. I'm probably just stressed about work, since I worked all night in my dreams. Today I'll get lots done and sleep through the night tonight. Sleep in tomorrow morning. It'll be lovely.
Mood: weirded out
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: New World Man, Rush
Hair: getting too thick . . . again
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3 comments:
I'm just a passerby, I've dreamed about my fears since I was 5, it's been 10 years.
ps. though I'm canadian, I've never been to Canada.
Oh man...you're stressed about work...you have to tell me these things! That's the cause of your headaches, the back muscle thingy, why your computer blew up..*I'm jumping ahead here, but she'll tell you all about it.
Communicate with the T man. Lose the stress.
There's no way to ditch this kind of work stress. Unless I didn't write anything, but then I'd just end up writing other stuff for someone else. Writing is hard. Period. I love it. I hate it. I love to hate it. I hate to love it. I can't stop doing it. It's the only thing I know. But it's insanely difficult. So there you go. This is my life. C'est la vie. It's just been a hard summer. When I'm in a good place in other areas of my life the panic of writing doesn't slay me. I do agree that my back pain and computer dying are so connected tho, that's for sure.
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