I get home every day exhausted. Shattered. Sometimes I’m so tired, that my hands are shaking, as I’m digging through my purse for my keys.
Some days I haven’t even done much, like today. I went to Uni, hit the Bank, and had an appointment with my counsellor. It was a good day. I felt strong, and capable, and friendly. I had a great chat with the korean guy at the bank, about Taekwon Do, as he adjusted my overdraft, and helped me pay off my personal loan. I got a card from my Dad that made me feel warm, and hopeful.
So parts of it were even great.
It’s just that feeling things again? Even good things? Is exhausting. And hard work. Being social, is tiring. Don’t get me wrong – I’d SO MUCH rather feel, than be numb again. But it’s exhausting in a way I’ve never really noticed before. Being out of the house slowly saps my strength in a way that leaves me ready for sleep at 4pm.
4pm is my goal every day. If I can be out, and active until then, then I have succeeded for one more day. Sometimes afterwards I’ll go to Taekwon Do, or the gym, and that’s great. Other times I simply drag myself home and talk to my flatmates or read, or watch TV, until my 8pm burst of energy hits.
Today I flopped down on the couch, intent on reading a trashy romance, and instead fell almost immediately into sleep.
I try not to do that, generally, because I have enough trouble falling asleep at 11, and waking up at 7.30 as it is. I’m scared adding the occasional afternoon nap will confuse my body beyond all recognition, and I’ll end up back where I started, wide awake at 4am in the morning, watching joggers, gym bunnies, and trash collectors wake up and go about their day.
My nap this afternoon ended up being four hours long, full of dreams about blind cats, accidentally eating pet fish, conversations with family, empty houses full of people, fat men on couches… And lots of deeply symbolic imagery, feelings, and abstract thoughts.
I’ve been doing lot of this kind of dreaming lately.
I finally wrenched myself awake, aching from the too-short couch, and sweating from the weight of a duvet that I’d dragged over myself at some point.
As I sat there contemplating my brain’s ridiculously complicated hoop-jumping, I rubbed my eyes and thought “Good grief. Where the heck did all the fun dreams about being a pirate go?!”
Daily Question: What do you dream about?