Sleep is for the weak
I love to sleep, I truly do and my habit in life has been to fall hard into sleep and then to wake like a house on fire setting about task after task till I could make even the busiest person’s head spin, and yet now I am not sleeping. I woke at 3 AM and just thought, I can’t sleep I’ll get up. I listened to a podcast, I petted Blekica till her kneading made me throw her off my lap, and then I began to write. I think there is a tendency in my writing to either whine or regale and really there is a lot in between that doesn’t see the light of day.
So the interview with myself:
How does it feel to be bald?
Well, now that you asked, I sort of feel like every day it’s ground hog’s day. I get up and go pee and then see myself in the mirror and think, wow, you’re bald. Not boo hoo but also not hurray, just you’re bald. And a piece of it seems to settle in later as perhaps a good reason for depression, but mostly it seems the baldness is a sign. Or at least a sign of the times.
What are you going to do with your life?
Live it. Work on it. Meditate on it. Show up.
Are you happy?
For the most part, albeit I find myself in some sort of stasis right now that is hard to describe. My energy level keeps fluctuating which I can at least now chalk up to the thyroid medication trying to get right in my body. A nurse friend told me that this might take as long as a year. Hmmm. I’m not used to running on 70% and so being forced to slow down makes me think something’s wrong but maybe there’s nothing wrong.
Why are you smoking again?
Because I feel like it. I’ve done all the stuff to be good, and now I’m sick of it. I can’t bring myself to yoga. My Zumba instructor has had other things and hasn’t made some classes, so I’ve only been able to go once a week. My whole charted outline for getting into my walking has gone nowhere. I can barely even walk the dogs. So I’ve been smoking. This is what woke me at 3 AM, I was lecturing myself in my sleep – why are you smoking I kept asking myself. “Because I am,” an almost Tin like refrain, but whatyagonnado? Well I must not do this I say to myself, but right now I am doing this. Note to self: figure this one out.
If you could do anything what would it be?
Right now, I’m not sure. I have had so many aspirations to such a myriad of paths that now I find myself at the turnstile going round and round with no desire to walk through any of the doors that are open. So I’m resisting any of them, all of them. And a birdie keeps telling me that another door has yet to open. And so I wait.