Fuzzy

I’m worthless at night, my head filled with fuzz. After getting up early in the mornings to make a not-always-successful attempt to write, then a full day at work, I can’t exactly function properly when I get home around 7. Sometimes I don’t hear what is being said to me; that’s probably very annoying. Sometimes I don’t see things that are here with me in the room; annoying, too. Nothing gets done: not that freelance project, and not the other. And most certainly not the dishes. When I am left to my own devices while E is out at jiu-jitsu, all I want to do is: curl up in a ball / crack neck / check email / pile pillows on couch and prop chin up so as to check email easier / read blogs / think of comments / lose focus / smile inanely at TV commercials / eat takeout we cannot afford / curl back up in ball / listen to strange thumping from apartment up above / realize have headache again / realize I lost another night / was going to dye hair but the light in the bathroom won’t come on / why oh why won’t the light in the bathroom come on?

I’m not making much sense, which illustrates my point exactly. I think I need more sleep. I think maybe I can get some of that next month.


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