Sleep Deprivation
Nov. 22nd, 2010 09:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraBottomed out rather spectacularly yesterday.
It had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the fact that I’d been up for 36 hours, seven of which had been spent driving to and from the Buffalo/Niagara Airport: Robin is off to spend a week in California with Max; it was my 16th birthday present to him. At the airport Robin had the gall to complain that I wasn’t giving him enough spending money. And I just snapped: why, you ungrateful little [your expletive deleted goes here].
I love Robin, but what a pain in the ass he has turned into since he's become a teenager. I'm sick of it.
Drove home in a stormy mood to an empty house bereft of sunshine or charm. I had lots of work to do but I couldn’t do any of it, I just felt too awful – too exhausted, too depleted, too old, too charmless, too lonely, too desperate.
Sleep deprivation, sleep deprivation, I kept chanting to myself. Robin’s flight was at 8:30am. That meant I had to wake up at 3am in order to get him there in time for check in. As always happens in situations like this, I got so absolutely freaked out that I would sleep through the alarm and Robin would miss his flight that I never actually fell asleep, just lay there in a daze, tossing and turning, listening to Beethoven’s pastoral symphony over and over and over again.
Depression centered around a Personals Ad, which against my better judgment I’d, answered because – well, the blanks are easy to fill in. Had written a short but sprightly description, sent a photo. Perp wrote back: Ill be honest, I'm not overly smitten, but if ya wanna come over and mess around. I'm game.
Good heavens, I thought. Why would anyone write something like that? If you’re not interested, you don’t write back, right? This sounds like something a 14 year old would write – I mean, “mess around?” Are you fucking serious?
If I hadn’t been sleep-deprived, the interaction would have amused me -- the thought of this 55-year-old Ihtaca hipster, spinning his little spider webs for hapless female victims.
But, of course, I was sleep deprived.
I wonder: will anyone will ever love me again?
Of coursem it has to be okay if no one ever does, ultimately one must love oneself. But at that moment, at least, it just felt so sad, so sad. I miss my soul mate.
Went to bed around 7. Twelve hours of sleep and I'm fine again.
It had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the fact that I’d been up for 36 hours, seven of which had been spent driving to and from the Buffalo/Niagara Airport: Robin is off to spend a week in California with Max; it was my 16th birthday present to him. At the airport Robin had the gall to complain that I wasn’t giving him enough spending money. And I just snapped: why, you ungrateful little [your expletive deleted goes here].
I love Robin, but what a pain in the ass he has turned into since he's become a teenager. I'm sick of it.
Drove home in a stormy mood to an empty house bereft of sunshine or charm. I had lots of work to do but I couldn’t do any of it, I just felt too awful – too exhausted, too depleted, too old, too charmless, too lonely, too desperate.
Sleep deprivation, sleep deprivation, I kept chanting to myself. Robin’s flight was at 8:30am. That meant I had to wake up at 3am in order to get him there in time for check in. As always happens in situations like this, I got so absolutely freaked out that I would sleep through the alarm and Robin would miss his flight that I never actually fell asleep, just lay there in a daze, tossing and turning, listening to Beethoven’s pastoral symphony over and over and over again.
Depression centered around a Personals Ad, which against my better judgment I’d, answered because – well, the blanks are easy to fill in. Had written a short but sprightly description, sent a photo. Perp wrote back: Ill be honest, I'm not overly smitten, but if ya wanna come over and mess around. I'm game.
Good heavens, I thought. Why would anyone write something like that? If you’re not interested, you don’t write back, right? This sounds like something a 14 year old would write – I mean, “mess around?” Are you fucking serious?
If I hadn’t been sleep-deprived, the interaction would have amused me -- the thought of this 55-year-old Ihtaca hipster, spinning his little spider webs for hapless female victims.
But, of course, I was sleep deprived.
I wonder: will anyone will ever love me again?
Of coursem it has to be okay if no one ever does, ultimately one must love oneself. But at that moment, at least, it just felt so sad, so sad. I miss my soul mate.
Went to bed around 7. Twelve hours of sleep and I'm fine again.
