It’s Me, I’m the Insomniac

It’s Me, I’m the Insomniac

Any insomniac will tell you that a snoring partner is the absolute worst. It’s me. I’m the insomniac.

I know Dan’s not taunting me while he snores in the other room, but only when I’m not sleep deprived. The rest of the time I want the cats to meow-scream in his ears until he’s the one not sleeping. 

Sleep deprived Emily is not the good Emily.

We are expecting several days of rain and snow in these parts as the temperature fluctuates between freezing and not-freezing. In the before times, temperature changes wouldn’t bother me much. Now, however, it makes me want to take weed and eat too much chocolate in an attempt to fake my way to comfort.

I used to say cancer made me old before my time, had me shaking a fist at the clouds while predicting that “weather is coming.” But maybe I’m of a certain age now anyway.

Regardless, I’ve eaten all the chocolate and weed is too dehydrating and expensive to take without excessive forethought.

The brutal cold we experienced in the last couple of days wasn’t actually that bad for my various inflammations. I suppose because things were consistently cold? It’s the back-and-forth with bonus precipitation that makes me want to throat punch Mother Nature. She’s pulled the “maybe this is trending toward tolerable” rug out from under me yet again. The old crank.

Coincidentally, it’s very difficult to meditate when I am in increasingly horrific pain. The bruised rib thing isn’t going away quickly either.┬áIt’s just not a good time for me to do indecisive Midwest winter, okay?

Okay, now that I’ve got all this griping out on the internet where it belongs, I’m going to try sleeping again. If that fails—and there’s a really good chance it will—I’ll play Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.

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