November 17, 2005

Not Yet...

I’m not sick… yet. Neither am I entirely well. My stomach feels better, but I am still exhausted. I know I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately, in a vaguely accepting I’ll-get-to-it-eventually kinda way, but last night my ragged subconscious clearly expressed itself: I had a dream I was taking a nap. How tired do you have to be to have a dream about being asleep? That’s like sleep squared. It ran like so: my little brother wanted to do Tae Bo with me, but I told him I had just eaten a sandwich and needed to take a nap before I worked out. I fell asleep at 2:00 PM (I don’t know why I can read clocks in my dream), but when I woke up it was after 7:00, so I was freaking out because my brother had done Tae Bo without me, and it was too late to go running. So I couldn’t work out that day, and I had eaten a huge sandwich. So I woke up (in real life) and reminded myself that I had run three miles the previous day, planned to run even more today, and that I haven’t eaten a sandwich in weeks. I rolled over and had another disturbing dream.

This one had my grampa in it, which I generally don’t mind, as it’s the only time I get to see him. When I have dreams about him, it’s usually just that we’re chatting, and halfway through I remember that he died, and then I sort of awkwardly apologize for his being dead, which he shrugs off like it’s no big deal, and I hug him. That’s the usual dream. This time, I remembered he was dead right away, so I ran over to hug him, but the hug felt different. It wasn’t like the hugs I remember, with his blue flannel shirt and huge suspenders and round belly, but more like I was hugging my grandma. When I pulled away from the hug, I saw that it actually was my grandma, and grampa was gone. I cried and cried, even in my dream. It means I’m starting to forget him. This happened the same way after I returned from Europe; at first I had dreams I was still there, walking down the streets, the details were vivid and everything was exactly the same as it really was…but after a few months of being home, my memories started to fade, and I couldn’t remember the streets of Paris, but my brain still thought I did, so even though I was in Europe in my dream, it still looked like my hometown, because that’s what my brain remembers. You lose the sidestreets first, then the main roads get fuzzy, then you can’t remember what your dorm looked like and your brain compensates with what it knows. I don’t remember my grampa’s hugs. It’s not fair, and it breaks my heart. When I woke up I was breathing funny, like I had been crying, so I had to turn over. Then I had a dream about disco… I dunno. Soundtrack ruled, though.

I know I’m not getting much rest when I have nutty dreams, because when my alarm goes off and I start making lists of what I need to do: get up, brush teeth, wash face, take pills, etc.—the lists changes ever-so-slightly. Lately, it goes something like this: get up, wash face, sleep, brush teeth, make breakfast, sleep, grab workout clothes, find shoes, sleep… my body is trying to tell me something. My brain is trying to tell me something. It’s wrong that I keep pushing it to do what I want. I need to get into bed at 8:00 PM tonight, just so I can be asleep by nine. Always listen to your body. It will tell you when to eat, when to sleep, when you are full, when you are thirsty, and when you need to expend energy. It’s just so hard to listen, but you’ll feel better if you do.

Ugh. I tried to eat a piece of pizza. My body said no.

I really do not feel well. My father is very probably doing his happy dance right now; he was annoyed that I had sidestepped the plague. I feel silly going home from work early—especially if I’m going to have to call in tomorrow. I wish I were either heinously ill or completely healthy—either one at this point—because it would mean either I go home and deal with it or stay here and quit whining. No one calls off work when they’re ‘maybe-sick’; they’d feel like a slacker. If you’re bazooka-barfing, however, you can enjoy your day off, because you know that you 100% cannot do that at the office. If I went home early, I’d just fall asleep, and then I would be too whacked out to work tomorrow. Ugh. I don’t know. It’s not like I’m getting work done, though; I’ve basically stopped for the day. I’m done with this now, too. Can’t do any more. Sorry. Too taxing. Hopefully will see y’all tomorrow.

No comments: