Okay, so I know that I swore a couple of blogs back to be more positive. When I blog about something negative (PMS/ frustrating goalies) I try to at least make it funny. But even though I'm about to catalog a really rough night, and probably not in a funny way, there is no fucking way I can not blog about this, because it is just too fucking weird.
So. Yesterday morning was a really rough morning; hard to get out of bed. So I decided to go out of my way to sleep in a little this (Thursday)morning, something I do not usually do. I've been working a lot of OT, getting a couple hours in before my regular shift every day, but today I was going to fore go that and get some shut eye.
To paraphrase someone from sometime with regards to something (I'm fuzzy on the details, but I'm fuzzy on everything right now... we'll get to that later), plans are great until first contact with the enemy. Well, I have seen the enemy and it is me. I went to bed a little after ten. I was tired, physically and mentally, and the last couple of months I've been falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow (barring a couple week bout with insomnia a bit ago). So I should not have had a problem falling asleep.
And yet I did. I slept for maybe a half an hour, but kept getting woken up. This... frustrated me. I was really looking forward to a more than full nights' sleep and not getting up early, and there I was, not able to sleep at all.
Fuck.
Finally around midnight I got back up, checked my email, did a full edit on a page of the story Rob and I are working on, and read a bit. The night was still salvageable, though I was still angry that it hadn't gone as planned. Around one a.m., my eyes were starting to blur and I was starting to get very tired again. Yay! I thought, I can sleep now! So I went back to bed, curled under the covers and-
*eyes pop wide open*
Fuck.
I toss and turn for another couple hours. I think I might have snuck in another twenty minutes or so, maybe. Finally, I realize that my frustration is making me sigh, toss and turn, and grumble, which is only going to keep Aaron up, and that's not going to make anyone happy. So... back out of bed I get at 3 a.m. This time, I don't bother trying to make myself sleepy so I can go back to bed. Nope. I just curled up on the couch and tried to go to sleep. It worked. For about 45 minutes. Then something woke me, who knows what, and I lay there, feeling irritated.
Fuuuuuckk.
By this time, I'm sleep deprived, irrational, temperamental and generally speaking kind of a soul sucking harpy. I'm really glad none of you had to see it. I might have fewer friends if you had. Anyway, in a futile attempt to maybe, juuuuuuuuust maybe get enough shut eye that I can function at work today, I decide I'll skip washing my hair this morning (something that takes a long time for me, when you factor in drying it) and do that tonight. That way, maybe I can sleep in until 9 or so. That would get me about 5 hours at this point, and I know I'm capable of functioning on that. I do it all the time. So I close my eyes and start to drift off a teensy little bit.... and then Rosco (the cat) starts yowling at the door. I mean really yowling.
FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.
I take a deep breath, remind myself that I oppose animal abuse, and call him over for some attention, which works to shut him up... for a minute. Right about this time, I get a bit frustrated. When the attention doesn't work and he just keeps it up, I have to break out the spray bottle, which I do. I chase him around with it for a couple of minutes... which is when I learn that one of the cats has thrown up on the floor... because I stepped in it.
FUCKFUCKFUCKDOUBLEFUCK.
At this point, I completely lose my shit. I mean seriously. I am at my wits end. I lose my temper TOTALLY and slam the water bottle down on the table. The plastic water bottle. On the hard tile table. It shatters, water goes everywhere.
GODDAMNED,MOTHERBONING, SQUIRREL BUGGERING, GOAT SHAGGING FUCK ALL.
At this point, I realize it is hopeless. It has all been for naught. I am not going to sleep and I'll be a flea fucking termite if I'm going to work (none of that made sense; I'm a little delirious).
So I sit up and read. I check Facebook. I do some other stuff. Then when I deem it a reasonable hour to do so, I call my boss and tell him I won't be in today. If there's a vacation day on the calendar I'll take it so I don't get dinged for attendance, but if not, I'm not worried about it. So the boss goes to check the calendar, and he says, "What day is it today, the first?"
Those words shock me down to the soles of my feet. Yes, it's March 1st, I tell him, completely flabbergasted. I get off the phone with him, and sit down to write this blog.
For you see, the last time I was up for almost 24 hours straight, was exactly nine years ago, down to the day. How could I possibly remember that, you ask? How could I possibly forget? Exactly nine years ago, early in the morning of March 1st, 2003, Aaron and I received a call saying his grandmother had been attacked and was being taken to the hospital. We came out to her house immediately (which was next door to Aaron's dad's house and his aunt's house). We received word a while later that she hadn't made it, and we stayed with the family until 8 or 9 that morning.
As this is something I try really hard not to dwell on, it having been a horrible, emotional, violent night, I haven't really been thinking about it so I'm not sure I think these two sleepless nights are directly related, even subconsciously. But it is really odd, don't you think? I mean... weird, right?
On the plus side, Aaron just got up and I told him all about it, and he was able to make me laugh by dubbing me Deleva, called Housewaresbane. :)
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