Can't sleep tonight. Not sure what that's all about, but after lying in bed, fighting it for nearly an hour, I gave up. I had a sudden yearning for a cup of hot milk laced with vanilla and cardamom. Not sure where that came from, but I had all the stuff, so make it I did. A pinch of splenda and two minutes in the microwave later and I have to say it's quite tasty. Kind of rice puddingy without the ricey bits to chew. Cozy. You should try it.

My fingers have been aching to get on here. So much pent up in the lines between my brain and the keyboard that I'm a little afraid to start for fear of not being able to withstand the deluge. Or having the deluge make any sense. Scratch that. That doesn't scare me. If I could type it exactly as it spins by, it would be a mad sort of relief. So much of it gets trapped behind the editing, though. Stuck in there behind the extra words that I spill out here in an effort to clean it up so that it makes sense. It's a throw back to something, I'm sure. 7th grade English? Ms. Messinger would die a thousand deaths need a thousand red pens to make it through just one paragraph these days. Sentences started with no subject, thoughts divided by commas or randomly placed dashes. It's frustrating to read it back -- clunky and incoherent, despite my efforts at clarity. Even more frustrating that in the end my efforts don't come close to clearly conveying what I'm really trying to say. Bah.

Seems like everyone everywhere on the great WWW is closing out the summer. Another throwback to 7th grade. Probably before that, too. What I Did on My Summer Vacation. Time to start sorting through the tank tops and tucking the flip-flops away. Khaki pants and eggplant blouses and semi-sensible shoes in preparation for kicking through the leaves that might start falling at any moment. Of course, we had a rather mild summer and are just now experiencing flip-flop weather with any sort of regularity. But kids are back in school and there's something about seeing brand new shiny backpacks on brand new shiny school kids that makes me want to pull out the spices and flip on the fireplace, 90* outside be dammed. (That's Fahrenheit, just in case you're reading this from anywhere in the rest of the world.) So maybe that's the explanation for the frothy mug of goodness at my side. At this time of night it's cool enough to enjoy the comfort of wrapping your fingers around a warm mug.

Actually, it was quite cool today. By NoCal standards, anyways. I'm pretty much cold all the time anymore. Yes, I've had my thyroid checked. Normalish. There's talk of getting more testing done, but not until I go back to report on the anti-depressant that I finally broke down and asked couldn't find the strength to say no to anymore am trying. Hard to say how/if that's making any difference. There are too many other variables that changed at/around the same time to know for sure. Everything seems to be double-edged:

- Josh finally got finished with the turn-around, so my days of semi-single parenting are done. Having someone to turn to at the end of the day to unload the dishwasher/get the boy ready for bed is a luxury I hope not to take for granted anytime soon. The downside is that I had developed a routine that didn't revolve around him and now he's in my space all the time. We're adjusting. No doubt we'll be fully adjusted when he goes back into turn-around the end of the year.

-I quit coffee. I was down to two cups of half-caf a day, so giving it up really wasn't a huge deal. But maybe it's making a difference in my sleep? Hard to say when I'm only on week 1. It's definitely making a difference in my mornings. I'm lost with out my stumble-out-of-bed-and-down-the-stairs-to-the-coffee-grinder routine. Too much spare time makes me jumpy, makes me worry about what I'm forgetting to do. Mornings aren't supposed to have time for breathing.

-The pain in my hip is at the lowest it's been in at least 5 years. It's been two, maybe three weeks since I woke myself up by trying to turn over. I have mad respect for people who go through physical therapy to recover from major injuries. That shit is hard. True, I'm learning to walk all over again, but for me, it's just a matter of unlearning bad habits. I can't imagine the pain/frustration of starting from square 1 because of something out of your control. On the flip side, the pain and frustration of knowing that I did this to myself because I couldn't see myself as worth taking care of is seriously debilitating. I have no one but myself to blame, no one to "show". The soreness in my muscles echoes the frailty of my self-trust. Both are a work in progress.

-I've been writing and writing and writing and writing through things. Not here, obviously, and not there, but over on my "secret" blog. It's probably not so hard to find if you were really interested in finding it. There's something very tantalizing about writing over there. Sort of like having sex in a public place but only after you've walked as far into the trees as you possibly can go and brought along a big, dark blanket to cover your nekkedness. Oooh, I'm such a risk taker. I've worked through a lifetme worth of anger and frustration and guilt over there. Not that it's gone, but at least it isn't still just rattling around in my head, drowning out every other emotion.

-I've been sleeping better. Okay, so tonight doesn't count, but in general, I'm getting more sleep. Deeper sleep. Probably as a result of all of the above. With the possible exception of the meds. We're on a new track of diagnosis now, working through the possibility that I might be more broken than originally thought. In which case the citalopram is not at all what I need to be taking and could very well be responsible for my sudden lack of focus on even the most mundane of tasks. I'm journaling my moods carefully, since mania doesn't necessarily present itself in loss of inhibitions and exorbitant spending sprees. Could be the irrational bouts of anxiety are what I'm supposed to be looking for. Could be that the irrational bouts of anxiety are because I could potentially be looking for irrational bouts of anxiety. Any way you look at it, it's all in my head. Hah! That's my new favorite joke!

Mmmm. Last sip. Grainy. Bitter. Too sweet. Sort of poetic. A jarring end to a comforting drink; a sudden end to a post that didn't go where I thought it might. Just enough of a jolt to push me up the stairs instead of snuggling down further in the couch cushions. So I guess it all works out in the end.

1 comment:

Lora said...

no matter how broken you are, I love you.