It’s the second day of trying to reset my internal clock. Strict-ish bedtimes have been implemented, but my body’s not having it. Soda’s made, meds are about to be taken, and…
I’m barely conscious.
I’m having a difficult time. My head hurts quite a bit; my hair looks terrible; and to top this all off, I’m so sleepy. I got a reasonable amount of sleep and yet…
My shrink and a local naturopath have both suggested that I get more sun. I can see where they’re coming from—a naturopath WILL suggest that a keyboard jockey needs more sun, and a shrink…also will suggest that someone in my condition get more sun.
BUT IT’S COLD.
Among my friends I am infamous for not being able to maintain a comfortable temperature. I’ve burned hands when coming out of the sun before, and many a time a handshake from outside has gotten a “Good lord, are your gloves full of ice?!” Ice packs fail quickly when I’m running a temperature, and hot packs chill rapidly if I’m running significantly cooler than normal.
Walking around outside tends to shoot things upward—I wind up having to strip down to the workout shirt layer in forty-degree weather rather quickly. But the threat of migraine recently has put a damper on that plan lately, and in addition to really being too tired to go out for a walk, I don’t really have an incentive right now—I still don’t have my replacement Fitbit (I will gripe about that subject from time to time because I miss my little favorite gadget).
The meds are…ridiculous. Everything that I take on a prescription causes drowsiness. It’s gotten to the point, actually, if we find more problems we have to do some grilling—we press the benefits of keeping a prescription against fixing the problem that’s newly popped up—because I’m in danger of something called oversedation.
In other words, “TOO MUCH—*ZZZZZ*” could happen.
It’s 0930. I’ve just popped everything. I’ve been awake for two hours, but there’s no guarantee I’ll be awake for the next two. I do what I can. But I have to be careful of lots of things.
The good news is that last night didn’t result in me winding up so high and dazed that it resulted in another sequence of laps walked around the apartment on my hands. …granted, my nose fell asleep (…I seriously don’t even) but that’s a lot less aggravating than waking up and realizing that I’ve tried to open the refrigerator door with my feet.
…actually, if we’re being perfectly honest, it wasn’t annoying. It was fucking hilarious. I can’t help but wonder if my neighbors were up and what they thought I was on. I can honestly say that I’ve never had quite that sort of sensation—not the last time I was stone-cold drunk, not the time the housekeeping staff had to work on the floor that some guests had turned into a giant hotbox (and no one left there sober that day, it was that strong), and not even on my first salvia trip.
I’m beginning to feel dazed again. I should sleep a little bit. I’ll set an alarm, though—I can’t afford to bork my clock again.
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