Thursday, September 9, 2010

When What Starts As Gratitude Takes a Hard Turn For The Strange

I'm going to say it, straight up - I don't deserve allaya'll.

I crawled into bed last night well after the midnight hour. I made a pitiful attempt at a little dramatic flair by turning off the lamp and stretching out on the couch, too sullen to carry my own self into bed. Just me, a lumpy pillow and Ugly Blue Blanket. But then I realized that I had to pee and once I made my way into the loo, I decided I might as well brush my teeth and go on in to my real bed. I don't even think Cory noticed my momentary fork in the road. What a waste of flair.

As long as I can remember, sleeping on the couch has just seemed like the right thing to do in moments of faux despondence.

My boyfriend broke up with me. For the fifth time. I think I'll sleep down on the couch.

I have a slight fever. Better sleep on the couch.

Back to the boyfriend thing, when I was in high school I would come home at curfew on a Saturday night with my mind already made up that I was going to fall asleep on the couch, fully clothed. I would then wake a couple of hours later, in the thick of the night, wash my face, put on my pajamas and go to bed for real.

I also used to set my pink alarm clock for 4:00 a.m. on school nights so that when it went off, I would realize that I could go back to sleep for two and a half more hours.

This has turned into Weird Bedtime Ritual Stream of Consciousness and I'm not sure how it happened...

But since we're already here... I used to go to my dorm room between classes in college and take naps. I would fall instantly into blissful slumber. The kind where your hip hurts when you wake up because you haven't moved a millimeter. At the same time, I had immense trouble sleeping at night. Always have. Always will? Always have, that's for darn sure. I would lay in my bed, so tired and so unable to drift and every now and then, I would decide that the surest solution was to get up and dress for the day, then climb back into bed. Shirt, jeans, bra, the whole nine yards. I wisely deduced that the key to quick and restful sleep was confining garments of various weights.

I never did test that theory and I'm not sure why. It is possible that my sane self grew so frustrated with my nonsense self that she shut off her engine and went to bed. So in the end, perhaps my theory proved itself? Now who's laughing.

But back to the most recent hour of my anguish. The problem was, I was sick of myself. I was 7:30 AM-Chemistry-Class-Tired of writing posts about my frustrations with selling our house. Cory read the post just before I published it and said, "It sounds fine.....but haven't you already talked about this?"

Well, that fired me up. It got me all, "It's My Blog and I'll Beat A Dead Horse if I Want To!" I saw no way around it, really. Having staggered into bed, I slurred, "Maybe I should just keep a diary around on account of nights like these."

It's a real problem I have. I am unable to find the will to post anything other than that which is truly on my mind.

And tonight, there's clearly a whole lotta crazy on my mind.

But all of that to say - thank you for bearing with me. I promise, I will stop. At least for the week. (Tomorrow is Friday, right? New week starts Monday? Maybe Sunday?)

Thank you for your unending encouragement. You'ns bolster me up. You're virtual underwire, is what you are. And I love you for it.