Mar. 13th, 2017

quirkytizzy: (Default)
...without the golden blonde hair, or the ability to sing, or an entire kingdom just waiting to be enchanted into a very, very long nap.

I asked what day it was yesterday, as we were running low on smokes. I'd assumed it to be Wednesday or Thursday, as a carton usually lasts us four days. I recalled my last forage for cigarettes to have happened last Sunday, so surely it was mid-week.

Nope. It was Sunday. I had been sleeping SO MUCH that one, ONE single, carton had lasted us over a week. It really goes to show who the heavy smoker in the house is. I'm not sure when I turned into the guy who's a two pack a day smoker, but somewhere along the line, I did.

Also it's a little freaky that I've been sleeping so much that my last clear memory was buying that carton of cigarettes over a week ago. (And then only memorable because I'd gotten to the store hours before they opened and drove away extremely irritated.)

Yesterday, at about 2:30 PM, I crawled out of bed and felt something that I haven't felt in weeks. I felt rested. SO rested, as a matter of fact, that when I saw Jesse had gone to hang with a friend, I almost texted to ask to come along. (Said friend and Jesse came back to our place, though, which was good, as I was in a cheery mood and plenty able to converse.)

The Prednisone step down has plenty do with the extremely heavy sleep schedule, but if five (or six) days of playing Enchanted Sleeping Enchantress is what it takes to get good sleep, then by god, I'm buying a fucking spinning wheel.

Okay, I don't reeallly want to waste away most of my days asleep, even if it means saving major on our cigarette bill. But it helped prove a small point to myself - that I CAN get fully rested, even if it takes days and days of resting to do it. Normally it wouldn't take quite so long, but Prednisone stepdowns are famous for causing hypersomnia.

So I woke up early this morning (4 AM), am going back down here shortly (by 6:30 AM) and will hopefully sleep till about 10 AM, when the cigarette store opens. But if I sleep later, I'm not going to worry about it.

I'm definitely not Sleeping Beauty. I've got more nicotine in my blood than I do any royal lineage. I'm no princess (or if I am, I am in an extremely unknown exile). But maybe she had a few good ideas after all.

Sleep, any long chunk of it, is so, so appreciated these days.
quirkytizzy: (Default)
JESSE: *talking about a story idea set in a Lovecraftian like universe* But SHE - the love interest - is a cosmic being in this story.

ME: I hope with fewer tentacles?
quirkytizzy: (Default)
I pull the blankets aside, resettle the cats onto the pillows and sheets they've conquered for the evening, and softly press my cheek to the pillow. A deep breath. Today has been a good day. Another deep breath. Jesse and I spent several hours listening to music we both enjoy, conversing, enjoying the company of our relationship. Another deep breath.

I can't sleep. Words are running about in my head. Not words in any coherent order, mind you. Just letters tumbling over each other, filling my closed eyes with images of black and white text, lines and dots tangling in each other. Not words that have a point, not words that have something to say. Just. Words.

I get up and take a Xanax. The rest of my meds will kick in soon. The Xanax will stop the words just short of my plunge into my nightly medicinal coma. I will be able to have the internal silence I need to rest.

The words and I, forever chained to each other at the wrist, yanking one or the other one way or the other. They seem a separate thing at times like these, another being that lives in my head, crowding me out. If I could just hear what they are saying, it would be easier. But no, it's always just letters twisting through neural pathways, shooting across a wide and unfollowable crossword puzzle.

I do not believe in writer's block, only days when the words and the will do not line up. This is an inevitable process of writing. One does not come upon it and burn the pages in frustration. Maybe your sanity, but not the words themselves. I hear others speak of writer's block being what stopped them from penning words onto pages and I do not understand.

But there is much I do not understand. It's okay that this is one of them.

Ah - there we are. The Xanax is doing its job. The words are quieting themselves. The rest will follow shortly. This is what we do when we cannot write. We write about writing. I was able to write long enough about not having enough to write about.

This has satisfied the gods long enough for me to earn my sleep.


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