Four fucking a.m. Don’t ask me what I’m doing up. I don’t fucking know. I just know I couldn’t lie in bed with sweat covering my body for one more damn minute. And hey – the first time I woke up and wanted out of bed it was 1:30 a.m. I got a whole 2.5 hours more of sleep. Whoop-de-fuckin-do.
I don’t know that I’ll ever really get that can’t sleep at all mania. I can sleep. For a while. Always. I’m always fucking tired. Even now. Got that heavy eyed sleepy feeling on my face tho my body is all go, go, go. And I know that by 4 p.m. today I’ll drop off in my chair – for 15 minutes. Then it’ll be back awake, back up, back to being too restless without a goddamn thing to fucking do.
Finished filling out the online forms for Addiction Central. Had to laugh; near the end of the final (fourth) form, they finally asked what medical conditions run in my family. Geez, I’m so fucking glad SOMEONE asked that of me. Finally. I’d have thought it should be my GP, not my head shrink, but you know – whatever. Someone will hear the horror of it and get it in my file. And it was the longest of my answers on Addiction Central’s forms. Let’s see: colon cancer, pancreatic cancer, brain cancer, lung cancer, stomach cancer, diabetes, heart condition, rheumatoid arthritis, alzheimer’s. Those are the big, bad boys. We haven’t even begun to touch mental health issues yet. The list would be much longer if I did.
So ready to hit the pool this morning. So ready to just get in that water and dunk my head under, let the liquid seep into my ears and cut off all fucking contact with the world. Just sit there, on the bottom, holding my breath. Fucking hell. I know it’s Thursday, which means a push – pool, back for breakfast, then off to class. Don’t fucking care. I need that water. Right the fuck now. And after class, I need to head to my bank. Thinking if I’m still so squirrely I’ll walk there – a 35-40 minute hoof one way. Got to burn this out SOMEHOW, right?
Spent time yesterday contemplating dead bodies. Or a dead body. One of the things I’ve written begins with finding a dead body. I looked up tips on writing murder mysteries. I thought about why someone would die in my story. I was running on dry when my brother walked in, asked what I was doing, and made a joke – which ten minutes later had tripped something in my head, and got me to see exactly why my characters were standing over a corpse. Gruesome, fitting, and a great possible serial killer. In a science fiction setting. I suppose I should add that: it’s a sci-fi story. I’m more of an Asimov than a Bear when I write sci-fi. Asimov wrote stories that could have happened anywhere, anytime. He just put them in a sci-fi setting and added a few frills. Bear writes hard sci-fi, and half his stuff is based in mathematical equations. This corpse I’ve found…could be anywhere, anytime, anyplace. I’ve just put it on another planet ’cause I saw an ad looking for speculative sci-fi and I thought I’d give it a go. Ended up staring down at a body. Go figure.
There’s nothing like being told to smoke more marijuana when you know you’re going to see a clinic to help you stop doing just that. However, my wall climbing is at that point. I’m hearing it almost every day from my bro: why don’t you go and smoke this down. Don’t worry about the money right now. Just get yourself under control. Yeah, yeah. ‘Get myself under control’. What a fucking laugh riot. The more I try to control this right now, the angrier I get. Down for two hours, try to sleep more, GET to sleep and then be extra tired and unable to wake up, feet moving, hands moving, squirming in my chair all the time (I think I’ve loosened up some of the nuts and bolts in my chair, it’s squeaking a LOT), want to hit something, punch out, lash out, fuck it all. I’m even typing extra fucking fast today.
Fucking holidays. Don’t slow down, damn it! Stop stopping! Get up and go. Move, move, move. Things should stay open. All the time. I need a goddamn rubber room to bounce around in for a few hours. Something like an adult version of those ball rooms for kids, just filled with colorful balls they have to kind of swim through. Put me in there today. Right the fuck now.
Sometimes my blog posts take over an hour to write. This? Less than 20 minutes, and that’s along with rolling a joint and getting up to pour 4 cups of coffee. Nonsense and unthought-provoking, sure. But FAST. Maybe I should go and tackle a bit of that story before swimming. Write it at this pace and I’ll be done before I know it. Shit? Maybe. I can fix that in fucking editing. Get words on the page right now. Fill up the white with characters and dots and paragraphs. Get something down, do SOMETHING, woman!
Pfft. Of course this is coming on a day I have to sit in class for 2 goddamn hours. Never a fucking convenient time, oooooooh no!
This is NOT my happy flying of October. This is nail biting agony. I wait all day to get to sleep so a few hours go by without me noticing them, then I can’t sleep. Bastards. Bastard sleep stealing shadows. Something comes in and rips me of my ability to rest. Call it mania, call it shadows, call it anxiety – I don’t give a fuck. I want to rest. I WANT to sleep. Not my choice to be up and cursing this early on my blog. It’s the only thing I can do right now.