Tag: blah blah blah and other excuses

  • Plllllbbbbbtttt

    The other day, Liz Poole IM’d me and was like, “OH MY GOD ARE YOU STILL AWAKE?”

    And I was like, “YES. YES I AM.”

    Because Internet, I am still not sleeping. As in, at all. As in, the shadows are moving. As in, this would be kind of cool if it were in a movie and not in the real world. As in, hold me, Internet. Hold me.

    I’ve mentioned before that I have three or four really good hours in which I’m all GO GO GO! like the zhu zhu motorized hamster Marilyn bought for the cats Christmas of 2009. That’s more or less still accurate, only instead of GO GO GO! it’s CRY CRY CRY!  Because apparently the feeling like shit is the new black. Who knew?

    I say these things not so people will feel bad or to induce pity, but because these days, mind-altering drugs are passed out like freaking antibiotics. Can’t sleep? Try this pill. That pill makes you crazy? Try this one. And there’s a lot they don’t tell you about these pills. Crazy things. Frightening things. Things that would make you reconsider whether or not you just needed to work out more before bedtime or maybe lay off the caffeine. Because hey, what would be the fun in that?

    I remember being sixteen years old and going to my doctor and telling him I didn’t like to take Paxil because it made my face twitch and my mouth taste funny. And my doctor was like, “You’re just saying that for attention.”

    And then it came out that Paxil had been known to cause convulsions in women during the first six months of use.

    Because Paxil sucks, yo.

    Anyway, so the no sleeping thing. It got so bad that last week I went to do a sleep study, and the doctor there was all, “So here is a list of medications. Check off the ones you’ve tried. If you tried a medication that was over the counter, or an herbal remedy, or something not listed here, you can use the slots at the bottom to fill in your answer.”

    And I was like, “Wait, I’m going to need another notebook, Mr. Doctor Sir, because that is how many medications I have been on.”

    And then he gave me a horse tranquilizer and I slept for eighteen hours.

    Which is good except for the part where I haven’t slept but hardly at all since.

    And this not sleeping thing? It totally sucks. I think it sucks worse than any other kind of being sick.

    Because at least when I’m out with the flu or strep throat, there’s this assurance that either I’ll get better or die from it.

    But with insomnia? Fat chance. Even when I do manage to get some sleep, I always wake up anxious. Because what if that was a fluke? What if I never ever get to sleep ever again?

    What if I go back to the sleep doctor and he’s like, “I can’t give you any more horse pills, ma’am. Because I think you’re only here for attention.”

    It affects every aspect of your life, too. Like how my house looks like a bomb’s been dropped on it, because with the not sleeping and all, I can’t be bothered to feed myself, let alone sweep a floor.

    But the worst part of it is that when I’m sleep-deprived, my defenses go to shit and I start telling myself things. Things I should never, ever be telling myself. It’s like living with a bully in my head. Or worse, my mother.

    Which is why it’s such a good thing that America’s Next Top Model is back with new episodes, even if they have kind of sucked for the past five years. Because now, whenever that bad part of my mind is getting the better of me, I can rest easy knowing that at least I didn’t just eat my weight in haggis.

  • My Three-Hour Workday

    There seems to be a window of a few hours somewhere between midnight and 3AM each night where the stars align and the medication wears off and I feel somewhat normal. I don’t hurt from the being poked. I don’t feel like I’m going to lose my lunch or like acid is going to eat through my esophagus, like what happened to Frankie in THE HOLE. I’m not dizzy. My head doesn’t hurt too bad. And life is as it should be.

    And so what usually happens is, I lie in bed all night and all day, trying to get comfortable but never really getting there because I’m too hot too cold too sore headachy nauseated you name it I am it, and then everything calms for a bit and I hit the ground running, ’cause kitchens don’t clean themselves, yo.

    Usually what happens is that in the span of these three or so hours, I manage to get done twelve hours worth of work. I steam the kitchen while watching TV and power-Tweeting. I blog and edit and write all at the same time. So what if I just fed the cats Rice Krispies and poured milk on my Blue Buffalo? THEY’RE BOTH GLUTEN-FREE. IT WILL BE OK.

    And then I pass out sometime around four o’clock, exhausted and disheveled, with my jeans around my knees, because that’s as far as I got before I fell asleep.

    I talked to my doctor this morning and was like, “DUDE. SERIOUSLY. Last night I took a Lunesta and tried to drive to Atlantis.”

    And he just shrugged it off, like, “OH YEAH. THAT HAPPENS.”

    That thing where I get halfway to sleep and then wake my mind up because I think I am dying? TOTALLY NORMAL. The part about catching myself not breathing and being unable to move to do anything about it? THE INTENDED RESPONSE. Anxiety, hot flashes, and a migraine? YOU JUST GOT A TEN OUT OF TEN, KIDDO, GOOD JOB.

    On the plus side, I’ve hit that space where you’re sick enough to feel sick but not so sick that you’re too sick to care. It isn’t like I’m confined to a bed, unable to check email or snark J.Lo’s Oscar dress on Twitter. There are days I just cannot sit in this house any longer, and so I go out to get groceries or check my post office box or pay bills, and by the time I get there, I’m like, holy shit this was a bad idea And then I have to creep home at 25 miles an hour because the road. won’t. stop. moving.

    I guess what I’m saying is, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, even if it is warbly. And that’s more than I could say a month ago.

    So…progress.

  • Liz Breaks Down

    Every now and then the shit hits the fan in such a way that I’m left alone in the PetSmart parking lot, sobbing into a slightly used McDonald’s napkin, wishing the earth would crack open and swallow me up, because somehow everything has gone to shit.

    Everything. Shit. All of it.

    I say this, and people are like, “OMG WHAT IS WRONG?”

    And I don’t know what to tell them. EVERYTHING is wrong. NOTHING is wrong. I am wrong.

    There’s this thing that happens when so much of who you are is wrapped up in any one thing. If something goes wrong, if you get get sad or despondent for no apparent reason, they automatically assume the reason why is buried somewhere in that part of you.

    Which brings me to Sunday night. PetSmart. Parking lot. Salty McDonald’s napkin. And a friend on my cell telling me to calm down, calm down, there will be other books.

    “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE WILL BE OTHER BOOKS?”

    “Just that…Not everyone…Maybe you should focus on other things right now.”

    “OH MY GOD YOU THINK MY BOOK SUCKS!”

    “What? No. Of course not. But if you’re upset about it–“

    “I’M UPSET BECAUSE I RAN OUT OF CAT FOOD AND PETSMART IS CLOSED AND THEY DON’T SELL IT ANYWHERE ELSE AND IT’S RAINING AND MY HAIR IS STUPID AND I GOT THE WRONG CLEMENTINES AT WAAAAALLLLL-MAAAAAAARRRRRRT…”

    Truth is, now more than ever I’m grateful for writing and reading, and even my new Kindle, even though it took three hours to convert all my Nook books over to Kindle format. Every day is a struggle to keep my head above water, to keep from melting down or crippling with fear, and every minute I get to check out of this reality and find sanctuary in another truly is a blessing.