so tired that i couldn't even sleep
So here's the thing. I'm tired. Actually, tired tapped me on the shoulder early this morning, I think it may have been somewhere around 2:29 a.m., maybe even later (it was so very much later), and told me I was being far too polite referring to how I feel as simply 'being tired.' I remember thinking "Well, then, I'm very, very tired," when I turned back toward the clock on the nightstand and saw the numbers 3, 4, and 5 lined up in a row (as in a.m., as in who the hell should be awake at 3:45 a.m.?). I also remember thinking, "Well, that's clever and a rather welcome change of pace from the usual 2:22 a.m., or 3:33 a.m., I've grown quite used to."
Strike that. Strike that and all the verys I could place in front of it to qualify it.
I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and probably spiritually. If you go to church and get stuck sitting in the front row like I did this week, which you hate because, well, you just do, can you blame the bright lights for the water coming out of your eyes? I mean, that's also what I do when I realize my eyes are leaking while I'm sitting at a traffic light, so same rules apply, right?
I honestly can't recall a night when I've gone to bed and didn't lay there waiting to see what symmetry the time had for me the next time I glanced at the clock. There's a name for that, I believe, a name for when you wake up (if you've been asleep, that is) at the very same time every night to find the clock reading 2:22 a.m., or 3:33 a.m., but I can't think of what it's called. Maybe it's called a coincidence. Or maybe it has something to do with the body's circadian rhythms, but I think you have to be asleep in order to dance to that beat. I'd google it, but I'm too tired to think of the right words to phrase the question. Somehow I don't think "You know, that thing where the numbers are all the same, right?" would net me the solution. That or I'd uncover some sort of doomsday theory, and I've already got too much of that kind of thing going on in my head.
Of course, I could take a nap. A few minutes to refresh myself. Fifteen minutes here and there. But I don't because I've convinced myself I'll fall asleep for hours and ruin whatever hope I have for rest that evening. Naps, it would seem, have become a less a refreshing way to recharge and are now something more like a prelude to hibernation.
I'm exhausted. I also think if you looked at me, if you read here and there, if you dropped me notes on Facebook and told me how you missed me and thought we should get together and "Hey, isn't it time we had a talk?" you'd conclude there's a reasonable explanation for why it is I can't sleep. Or not. Whatever it is, it's gone on so long now that I'm probably growing accustom to it.
I hate that I'm accustom to this.
I hate that I'm writing something that seems like a steaming pile of woe is me.
I hate that I can't sleep.
(I love that I'm getting so many damn books read, though. Need a recommendation? I'm your girl.)
There's really no gist (but there quite likely is) to this post other than some lame attempt on my part to release some of the words that bounce around my cranium like a hyped up preschool playgroup at an inflatable funland. Those damn words are loud in there, and they're one-sided and, to be honest, they're also sort of pissed.
I have to try to go to bed now. The thought of that shouldn't stress me out, right? Make me antsy? That's definitely not going to be the suspiciously cute boy who crosses the gymnasium floor and asks me to dance and tells me his name is Sleep while we spin along to those circadian rhythms, no?
I am very, very exhausted.