I am so fucking tired today.
So fucking tired.
The cause? My inability to sleep these last few nights.
Yeah . . . pretty sure that’s it.
Insomnia is a lifelong and wakeful acquaintance.
A painful and heightened appreciation of the workings of my mind.
In which every thought in my mind flutters and rubs irritatingly against a million other thoughts. Every thought in my mind rubs against a million other thoughts and colors all of those thoughts with bits of moth-wing dust. And then that thought-wing dust changes the thought to which it adheres. And then the newly charged and changed thought begins to beat its wings. Against a million other thoughts. Forever.
It is exhausting, but it does not lead to sleep.
I stare at the ceiling as my mind rages on.
I have known a lot of ceilings quite well.
Mark is snoring.
When I was a kid, I taught myself to interrupt this intimate nighttime frenzy with the alphabet. I would focus all of my energy on drawing out the letters of the alphabet across the screen of my consciousness. Follow the slow strokes of my mind’s pen as it traced the letters’ parts. Slow and heavy and deliberate.
That sometimes worked.
Or I would pick a category (like animals or colors or verbs), and I would go through the alphabet, trying to come up with an animal or a color or a verb for each letter.
The trick was in focusing all of my energy on visualizing the details of the items I picked. C is for Cardinal. I imagined the heft and weight of the bird in my hands, the span of its wings, the gradations of color along the individual feathers, the bones beneath, a shining eye. The hard yellow cone of a beak, the small black mask, a wildly beating heart. The red tufted crown, so regal from a distance and so easily flattened with a fingertip.
And the release. Flight taken.
On to the next letter.
That sometimes worked.
Lately, though? Not so much.
My mind will have its way with me.
And it has been going urgently about its disorganized late-night business despite my pleas for order.
Sigh.
And so today? I am exhausted.
And everything seems impossible. All obstacles insurmountable. And every irritation a mountain to climb.
The only molehills are in the back yard. Literally.
Where Mark sits among them reading a magazine. He is staying out of my way.
He came in a few minutes ago, all shuffling feet and pocketed hands, asking if there was anything he could do for me.
So annoying.
Also? Earlier? He ate corn on the cob in front of me.
And people? That is just one of the most disgusting activities on the face of the earth.
Sigh.
A pause there while I discover that there is, in fact, a more disgusting activity on the face of the earth. Our Labrador, who was sitting politely at my feet as I typed about annoying eating habits? Stood, and left behind several spots of blood.
That’s never good.
Tossed her outside, cleaned the small mess.
And then went out to determine the problem.
And discovered she has a badly swollen anal sac.
That is just as lovely a sight as you might imagine.
She had this problem once before, and it required surgery.
And veterinary surgery, people? Is not cheap.
Nowhere in our budget is there room for dog-butt incisions.
It’s not as swollen as I remember it being last time, so I return to the computer.
Maybe it’s something I can take care of myself, right?
Ugh. Not even.
D is for Dog. Shiny brown fur and beseeching eyes. Wagging tail and friendly bark of greeting. A walnut-sized swelling beneath and to the side of her tail. An abcess. In need of lancing. A required release of unimaginably foul-smelling contents . . . apparently. Not to be undertaken by a non-professional. Not inexpensive. Not convenient. But required. Our dog with shiny brown fur and beseeching eyes.
Off to the vet tomorrow.
And tonight?
I should sleep like a baby.
E is for Elephant.
Damn. I was hoping this would end in a year or two.
Guess I’ll be inappropriately chuggin’ the Nyquil for longer than I thought.
Hmmmm . . . why would you think it would end?
Mine has always been.
Ending never occurred to me.
Oh,don’t even get me started about the insomnia. I had weeks of it last year. Dragging around all day just completely fucking miserable due to lack of sleep, then laying down exhausted and…what’s that…oh, hi brain, you planning on talking to me all night again? because there isn’t one fucking thing that you have to say to me that I don’t already know!!!! Okay!!!! We’ve been hanging out a lot of nights here, and really nothing new has happended since our last lengthy internal dialogue, especially since I was too tired to do anything once again!
You know it is really bad when you start wondering if you hit your head against the wall hard enough you could manage to knock yourself out.
And then after hours of this you decide this is pathetic…I should be doing something…so you sit up, and the weight of all the sleepless nights that have gone before hits you like a ton of bricks and you lay down, exhausted and…awake.
Yeah, insomnia…
Now these days I don’t get the out and out insomnia so much as the laying there all night just a quarter inch below the sleep consciousness border. The place where the internal dialogue is almost gone, replaced instead by the mantra of sleep?sleep? sleep? ( picture me in the fetal position and the mantra? is kind of a beseeching prayer to the sleep gods), knowing you are almost there but not quite, you are really just laying there being very tired, too tired to think, in fact almost but not quite asleep and if anyone walked in and asked you a question you could sit right up and answer coherently. And then…if you do manage to get to sleep, that is when someone else wakes up and needs you…so you get up, take care of them, and go back to bed…sleep?sleep?sleep?
I am so sorry that you too know about the joy that is insomnia. But I did have fun venting aobut it :)
You are all ranty and truth-telling!
Exactly.
Sigh.
Did you read Nigel’s advice?
I like your alphabet trick, especially the visualizing the details part. My best strategy is similar, I pretend that I am lying in a hammock in the shade next to a tropical beach in the middle of the day…the reason I am lying there doing nothing ( this is the great part)is because there is nothing that needs to be done. I don’t even have to get up to get myself another one of those drinks served in a coconut shell and decorated with the paper umbrellas because if I want another one, all I have to do is wave languidly and one will appear.
The trick is in the visualization, it seems to use a different part of your brain than the talky part, and if I do it right it just kind of segue ways into a dream.
I know you . . . you are me!
Exactly me.
It is 1 a.m. where I am. Sometimes the time difference between you and me kills me. When my day is well underway and I am ready to read something new? Your day has barely started. Sigh.
Poor puppy. Does it have something to do with those glands dogs have in their butts that are supposed to be squeezed so the nasty stuff will come out? I only know about this from a movie where someone got a job as a dog groomer, so I may or may not be making sense right now.
Everyone should be on my time.
Who do I speak to about making that happen?
And yes, it is a butt gland problem. And yes, it is supposed to be squeezed so that nasty stuff comes out. But this particular dog? Has issues.
Of the non-issuing sort.
Ick.
Here is my patented cure for insomnia, shared for free, from me to you, in a few easy steps, and the best part is Mark can help out:
1) Get nice and comfy in your bed, on your back, arms at your side. Relaxing music is allowed, but not required. A little Barry Manilow or Gordon Lightfoot, perhaps.
2) Breathe deeply while slowly counting, inhaling on the odds, exhaling on the evens. Think peaceful thoughts, of ocean shores, light breezes, that sort of thing.
3) Have Mark take a pillow and hold it down over your face, pressing down lovingly and with care the entire weight of his body. Enjoy the texture of the pillowcase as it folds like a warm blanket around your nose and mouth. Relax to the soothing sounds of “Sundown” or “Mandy.”
4) Imagine the tension leaving your body like smoke from a fire. Refrain from kicking or thrashing against Mark. Struggling will be useless, since he is bigger than you are, and he is only doing this for your own good. To ease in this, imagine someone else is smothering you with the pillow, Jimmy Stewart or perhaps Jesus or a Care Bear.
5) Slip gently into a deep, restful sleep.
6) (Optional) Have Mark remove the pillow from your face once you stop kicking.
There you go! That’s really all you need for a cure, and the side effects are fairly minor, really: a blinding and fiery headache when you come to, and you won’t be able to do math very well any more.
But it’s a small price to pay for a good night’s sleep, I think.
You’re welcome.
I am speechless.
Helpless with laughter and speechless.
Oh, wait! Nigel!
I was on your blog yesterday and clicked on an ad for some crazy-ass high-caffeine drink.
Came back to your blog, and the ad banner had been replaced with one suggesting that I click to find out more about how to “cure my anal fissures.”
First of all . . . what the fuck?
And second . . . do they know how to fix dog ass?
By the way: how are those anal fissures of yours working out? Still suppurating? Is the medicated bum plug helping out at all?
Wait, I forgot: was I supposed to keep all of that a secret?
Never mind.
You know we have no secrets.
And what the fuck . . . man with the ass-tending ads?
My ass is a wonderful garden of happiness and joy and delight, where nymphs and sprites dance and play and sing.
There are no fissures in my garden.
There is a minotaur, though, named Pickles.
We don’t talk about him.
Here are the words my brain has selected . . .
Pickles . . . dance. . . in . . . my . . . ass . . . fissure . . . garden.
That is so disgusting.
What is wrong with you?
Bah-hahaha! I have horrible insomnia too {evident as it is 2am & im here – awake & reading about insomnia} This will not help me sleep – I am laughing and might have woken up the babe. . .
I love Nigel.
And I love you.
Do not tell your husband. Although with the pillow over your face, he wouldn’t be able to hear you anyway.
See? The benefits of my plan are too numerous to count!
I told Mark to read your comment last night.
He loves you now.
Not so much that he wants to explore earlier ass-tapping suggestions you have made.
But he loves you.
Ass-tapping . . . and now I can only see my stupid dog’s swollen ass.
Sigh.
I live to serve.
*snicker!*
*snort!*
*giggle!*
*snerk!*
….ow…
I know!!!!!
oh honey, that sucks! and I understand. insomnia has been my long-time companion as well. I’ve always said sleepiness isn’t the problem; my brain is. I don’t need something to make me drowsy. I need something to switch off my brain.
Yes. I know all about tired.
It’s the off switch on my brain that I can never seem to locate.
Sleepless nights suck big fat donkey balls! And listening to hubby’s snoring does not help to pass the time either. Benadryl or Melatonin knock me out like its cool and at the time it is the coolest! Ambien works pretty well too except it gives you really really fucked up dreams and allows other people to move your unconscious body into the back seat of a car without your knowledge or recollection of the event.
I am not good with drugs. At all. I am weirdly susceptible to odd side effects.
And I have huge control issues.
I would never want to sleep so soundly that I could be driven away!
That’s fucked up, young lady!
I was never moved into the car nor did I do the moving of another person. I’ve never taken ambien myself. I’m not a big fan of medications anyway but the dr told me to take the melatonin when I was pregnant because I never slept.
Anyway the story about the ambien…
I was a dispatcher for the Sheriff’s Office before I had my son and decided to stay at home with him. There were a bunch of us over for a bbq type gathering at one of the deputies house and when the night was winding down, he took his ambien to start getting ready for bed…
After he slipped off into his deep sleep, 2 of the other deputies there,one being the roommate, picked him up and moved him to the backseat of his patrol car. It was quite hilarious to watch as Halbrooks, the sleeping deputy, was talking to them in his sleep about being careful to not bump his head on the car door.
Note to self . . . do not ever take Ambien.
Another note to self . . . do not hang out with Sheriff’s deputies.
Kris,
P is for doggy Preparation H.
V is for vice grips and standing VERY far away as Mark squeezes the anal dog’s issues.
I is for Insomnia, and Indictment, if Mark follows Nigel’s helpful pillow advice.
WTF is for, well, WTF… Either you sleep and dream of Mark being all like Jesse James/Bill Clinton/other erection bearing beasts, OR you are all insomniac and dusting butterflies.
B is for life sometimes being a Bitch and But this too shall pass. Like a swollen canine anal gland.
E is for ewww.
Bill
Are you spelling something out with the first letters of your comment?
No.
An acronym?
No.
There must be a secret hidden meaning!
What is it?
What is it?
This is the kind of shit that keeps me up at night.
So thank you very fucking much.
When I was younger I had insomnia. Then I started drinking. Now I have a 8.5 month old how doesn’t care much for sleep. No time for insomnia. I am already up.
In my experience?
It does not matter if there is time for insomnia.
It makes its own time.
My husband has insomnia. It’s not as bad as it once was…since we had the baby…but when he returned from his deployment it was all kinds of awful. Also, he jerks in his sleep and that trait has passed to my son…but that’s another story…
Also, only 9 tags? You must be tired.
I am better this morning. But yes, I was tired.
I’m still stuck on the swollen anal sac. Isn’t that supposed to get taken care of by the groomer when the dog is groomed? I am thanking all things heavenly right now that that has never happened to us. Blech.
I know you said you don’t usually take drugs, but man, benadryl helps so much. I would avoid Tylenol sleep stuff, because I wake up middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. Oh, and when I’m dealing with insomnia, I play mind games with myself. I start with my feet and work up to my head, telling myself that my toes are now asleep, the my ankles, etc. It sometimes works, but sounds so fucked up.
The anal sacs are tended by the dog groomer, but this dog? Has anal gland issues.
Fun.
And also? Blech.
I have heard that strategy before . . . the one you mention. It makes me giggle.
Giggling is wakeful.
Half of a melatonin tablet helps me, but I do half so I’m certain to hear the baby if he wakes up. If I were you, I’d take the whole thing. Also, a few good drinks might really help.
I hate drugs.
I do drink a beer most nights. Just one.
Usually that is helpful. Unless I am stressed and angry . . . then the alcohol only seems to make me manic and annoyed.
And awake.
I too am a sufferer of insomnia. Especially when PMSing which who doesn’t like to be sleep deprived during an already magical time? Or when stressed. Like I am right now. Which leads to very little sleep or if I do sleep at all, I dream about rats and cupcakes (Saturday night)or the meeting I am having today (last night). The husband snoring next to me sometimes comes very close to an untimely death.
Poor dog. Sore anal glands cannot be a good time.
Rats and cupcakes!
Love that.
I am back in my own bed after the visit from relatives . . . I think that will help.
Rats and cupcakes . . . snort!
That asshole insomnia lives here, too. I had tricks when I was a kid; reciting nursery rhymes or times tables and later, typing nonsense words on an imaginary keyboard. They don’t work for me anymore, either.
Want me to get my ass-surgery tools? Because I can. I’m an expert with a record of success!
Yeah, if this was just a swollen anal ball? I would just hold my nose and lance it.
But an abscess means an infection and the possibility of me making things worse by spreading that infection.
So she is off to the vet even as I type this comment.
When I am stressed? Insomnia comes to visit.
As much as I love the relatives? I am happy to have my house and my husband back.
Mark gets all stupid when his family visits.
I suffer from insomnia also. I was awake all night last night. Exhausted but awake.
Sorry to hear about the dog. My mom’s dog used to have that problem. Trust me…the expense of the vet is worth it. It’s NASTY business.
I know. I know.
Mark took the dog to the vet this morning.
I take children to the hospital. He does the vet stuff.
I hate when they bleed. Of course Cali’s problem is that she’s a purebred and is getting bred this year so she’s not fixed. After we have baby cali’s then she’ll go get fixed and we shouldn’t have to worry about it. That sucks that you’ve had that twice! Poor puppy and poor you guys!
Our Lab is fixed, but has defective glands or something.
And it does suck.
Except the word suck paired with the thought of anal abscesses?
Is completely creeping me out.
Shudder.