I need sleep. That is just how it is. I need a good eight hours if I am going to be coherent the next day. If I have less, like the 3-4 I had last night, I am useless and you should really ignore me because I will be ignoring you. I am simply going through the motions. I am unsure what the motions are, though.
Sometimes the motions are to drink as much Diet Pepsi as I can until 8 pm – a time I can go to bed and still feel ok about myself. Sometimes the motions are to feed and clothe my kids. I do this to the minimal requirements, however. Matching does not matter and nutritional value is less important than ease. I do not clean my house and the way my house looks depresses me so that I can’t nap because all I am thinking is how horrible my house looks. So I drink another Diet Pepsi.
Sometimes I find myself eating sugar to get a quick energy boost. This usually just makes me sick because I have already had fifteen cans of Diet Pepsi. Then I am tired, worthless, and shaking uncontrollably.
I also spend the day trying to not hate my husband because he slept just fine the night before. In fact, when I tried to wake him because the wind blew the garage door open and the knife drawer was open and I couldn’t find Seth at 2 am and was going a bit nutty, he snored and rolled over. (Seth was asleep on the floor under his bed. Can I punish him for this?) And yet my husband still lives. He may be sleeping on the couch tonight for his safety, however.
I miss my little apartment in the attic in college that took ten minutes to clean, was generally always picked up and very easy to nap in. I need a separate abode for naps. One that is always clean and stocked up with Ambien. Maybe for my 40th birthday. I mean, I am middle-aged. I need my rest.