I’m so pissed and frustrated right now. I’m
in my 50s yet I’m STILL fighting for the right to sleep. I haven’t slept this
bad since apartment life. If there are any two subjects, two patterns, that are
evident in my life to make me think there is something up there planning and
cursing me, it’s lust and sleep.
I crashed last night around 5 PM, then at
9:30 that fucking car woke me up. At least I’m pretty sure it was that car. The
fucking thing typically takes off around lunchtime and then again in the
evening. I got a good look at the driver again - a scrawny smoker with a dark
beard and mustache – and I still say they look too young to live here. Both car
and driver just don’t smack of retirement stuff, but they also don’t smack of
caregiver either. Yet they’ve been here for months, so unless they’re caring
for an aging parent, I’ll likely be stuck having to listen to this vehicle for
years just like with the people across from Bob and Virginia, though that’s not
nearly as loud and they don’t go out twice a day or more.
There are numerous vehicles these days that
are thunderously loud and wake me up, but I think that’s the main culprit of
the vehicles lately. Too pissed to fall back asleep right away, I took a
Tylenol PM and fell back asleep about an hour later, maybe a little more. Then
I woke up for no reason at 3:30, whined to Tom and minute or two, and then fell
back asleep until 6:30.
I awoke groggy and totally out of it. Tom
stressed the need for me to take the day to do nothing at all, and this time I
gladly took his advice and did just that… nothing. The only thing I did was
freshen up, apply my steroid gel, and dump some trash. I gathered the On This
Day entries that I’ve been emailing Tom each day, along with a scenic picture
as I normally include, but spent almost all day in bed listening to the near
dozen or so ferociously loud vehicles that passed by, and wondering where the hell
I could ever get decent sleep. If I can’t sleep here, then where??? It really
truly does feel like something has been cursing my sleep all these years. The
only difference has been how depending on where I’ve lived. It seems to use
whatever’s convenient. Since it couldn’t use neighbors or traffic in Maricopa,
it used sonic booms. I just don’t know where I can possibly get good sleep more
than half the time. Even if I was as deaf as a doorknob, it would just have me
wake up more often just because, right? If you can’t use somebody or something,
then why not do it just because? If I got a sensory deprivation tank to sleep
in, it would just make sure that I overheated, had nightmares, or woke up just
for shits and giggles to make up for the lack of sounds waking me up, correct?
So I guess that no matter where I live I’m
destined to spend half the time too tired to do much more than rant in my
journal. I was never allowed to have true lust, and I’m still not allowed to
sleep normally, as if the lack of schedule isn’t bad enough. Seriously… being
scheduleless AND a light sleeper. How cursed is that? Tom can sleep throughout
this noise with absolutely no background sounds. But I have white noise
blasting and it still wakes me up. What is the difference between him and me?
What is it he’s got that I don’t have that’s keeping him asleep through it
while it’s waking me up? I tell myself it’s better than anxiety, and it is, but
it’s bad enough that there’s always something going on with me. I need my sleep
same as anybody else.
It appears that Tammy might’ve joined
Prosebox after recommending a particular cold medicine when I shared an entry
about being sick on Facebook, but I don’t see any books. Maybe she was just
curious to see if there was anything she couldn’t see of mine from the outside
looking in? She hates to write, so I can’t believe she joined to start
journaling.
Aly hasn’t changed handles and Kim hasn’t
blocked me, so I don’t know what to think at this point. Right now I don’t
care. I just want to sleep! And I want to be able to do it more than a couple
of times a week, too.
I had a dream I was standing in the middle
of a large grassy slope. I looked down at my “fake bake,” and realized I had
the power hose in my hand and that I had to be careful with it.
A dog suddenly appeared with some weird
thing on its head that almost looked like a cross between a bandage and a
headband. I muttered something that didn’t make any sense and headed down the
slope toward a pool.
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