Dear Jenny,

In addition to having a work load of 60+ hours, including four consecutive overnight shifts, I thought I’d throw in a bout of insomnia.  That way, in the all-too-seldom windows of actual, allowable sleep time, you simply cannot quiet your mind enough to get some shut eye.

You’re welcome! Enjoy being a crabby bitch! :)

Me Bless,

(G.O.D.)

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I realize that it’s very Catholic to assume that God is “out to get me,” to teach me a lesson of sorts.  It seems I’m barely religious at all, and yet eight years of Catholic schooling has been embedded deep enough that I carry the guilt of a lifetime! Wee!

It’s true, about the dangerous lack of sleep, however.  In the past three “nights” (which, when you are nocturnal, are pretty much arbitrary), I’ve slept a total of nine hours.

A) At the beginning of a relationship, it’s really hard to me to sleep while there’s a boy in my bed.  There doesn’t even have to be any bodily contact! He could be on the polar opposite end, fully clothed, sleeping away!  My mind can’t get over the fact that there is a boy! In my bed!  Like it’s such a rarity that my mind can’t grapple it.  It’s not so much overt, sexual excitement as it is girly giddiness.

B) When there isn’t a boy in my bed (which, let’s face it, is 99.9% of my life’s nighttimes), my mind has been racin’ like none other.  I’ve been tossin’ and turnin’ in early morning hours, trying to silence the incessant noise – I need to update my resume, I have to know whether or not to renew my lease by next week?  God I hope my rent check hasn’t bounced.  Maybe I should cancel my cable and get into photography again.  I need to get my headlight fixed.  I’m not going to be home for Thanksgiving. How much time can I get off for Christmas?  I need to stop eating Moe’s every fucking day.  And there is more than one bar at which I have a “regular” drink;  that can’t be a good thing. I am desperate to do my laundry and even more desperate to find the time in which I can do it.

…along with 239483 other things.  The late-night anxiety hasn’t been this bad since high school, when I was prescribed Klonopin.  (Isn’t it amazing how a mild tranquilizer quiets your mind right down?)  I’d love to do the voluntary coma thing again, but I don’t have the time to be passed out that long.  I try to pacify myself by going to a happy place (”I’m going to my cave!.. Slide!”), and I always end up on the beaches of Grand Haven, like here:

And I try to convince myself that I’m tanning on a sunny summer day.  Sometimes it works.  But usually it doesn’t.  So as a result, I’m tired.
I’m pretty sure it’s getting to that point where operating heavy machinery is out of the question.  I actually fell at work today, twice.  Both times, I tripped over a set of two black totes, catching myself with all weight on my left shin so as not to fall completely on my face. Ow.  I have a goose-egg on my leg now, which I can’t stop running my fingers over.

On a totally unrelated note:

I think Mariah Carey gets off on making music videos.  There’s something so unrealistically exhibitionist about her new video.  She appears as if her inner monologue is looping some superficial mantra, like:: “Be sexy, be sexy, I’m trying to be sexy. I can’t wait to masturbate to this footage later.”