Tag Archives: Tired

I’m still half asleep

I’m having one of these days where, despite the fact that I slept a solid eight hours last night, I can’t seem to really wake up. Right now, I’m writing this sentence, it’s taking me about ten percent of everything that I’ve got to string these words together, all while the other ninety percent is fighting this huge battle just to keep my eyes from closing shut under their own weight. Every time I blink, I’m getting more and more worried that I’m not going to be able to muster the energy necessary to open them back up.

I don’t know how to explain it. Like I said, last night’s sleep was pretty decent. It was better than decent. But waking up was such a struggle. If I didn’t have to use the bathroom, I’d probably still be laying there, comatose, deaf to the sounds of my alarm clock ringing in the periphery of my consciousness.

I struggled to my feet. I went downstairs and thought, coffee, I need coffee. That’ll wake me up. And I made a pot, I drank like three cups. I felt the caffeine doing something, my heart rate picked up, my leg started tapping violently against the floor. But I still wanted to go back to bed.

So I did, I closed my eyes thinking, all I have to do is lay down for a little bit, and once my brain realizes that, thanks to all of that coffee, I won’t be able to go back to sleep, it’ll have no choice but to fully wake up and commit to getting this day started. But then I looked at my phone and it was eleven-thirty.

I’m still tired. At this point I’ve had probably over ten hours of non-consecutive sleep, but I still feel like I could hit the pillow and be good for the rest of the day. I’m getting flashbacks of high school here. I’m having physical memories of what my body felt like all throughout my adolescence.

There wouldn’t be a single day where I’d get eight hours of sleep. It was always this huge fight to get up in the morning. My parents would have to scream me awake. And I’m not trying to say that my parents were being overly harsh or anything, but it was the only way I’d get out of bed. I imagine it to be what people feel like coming to after having been trapped in a really long coma. I’d hear voices, I’d have this vague knowledge that my time for sleeping had come to an end, but I couldn’t really do much more than turn over, let out a muffled, “All right! OK! I’m up!” lying through my teeth, hoping that my parents would leave me alone for another two or three minutes of precious sleep.

And then I’d finally stand up, I’d go to the bathroom and take a shower. Sometimes I’d fall asleep sitting on the side of the tub waiting for the water to get hot. Other times I’d go through my whole morning routine, I’d brush my teeth, get dressed, and head downstairs for breakfast, all before blinking and realizing that I had never really gotten up in the first place, that my whole morning had thus far been a dream.

I always hate it when I hear certain people talk about how they only need four or five hours a night. They’ve got to be lying. Every once in a while I’ll have to get up for something really early, and I’ll have one of those four or five hour nights. I feel like I’m half dead, like I’m pissed off, my eyes want nothing more than to stay shut, and every instinct is telling me to look for the nearest cushion, somewhere where I can curl up into the fetal position and remain there unconscious for the next three or four hours.

I’ve got to go to work tonight. I know exactly how it’s going to go down. I’m going to drag my feet through the whole shift, just trying my best to get through the night without anybody commenting about how slow I’m moving, or that I look really beat. And then around an hour before closing, I’m going to get a kick of energy. For some reason, my body is going to decide at around ten or eleven that now is a good time to snap into action.

And I’ll be screwed. I’ll go home and I’ll be wired, unable to relax, incapable of doing the one thing that I wanted so desperately to do all day long, to go to sleep. It’s going to affect tomorrow’s wake-up time, it’s never going to stop. I’m going to be half-asleep for the rest of my life.

It’s not that I don’t want to help

It’s not that I don’t want to help, I do. I want to help. I just don’t feel like it. If only I felt more like helping out. Like, I wish that I were in the mood to lend a hand. So I want to help, it’s just, I can’t get past that internal inertia, dammit, if only that weren’t there, then we’d be good to go, because I always want to help out, in any way that I can really, it’s just, right now, I don’t think there is a way. Because I’m so tired.

ants log

And it’s not that I don’t like that shirt you gave me. I do like it. It’s only, well I can never figure out the right occasion to wear it. Like, yeah I guess I could have worn it out tonight, but then that would have been it. The first time you put on a new shirt, that’s something special, something you can’t recreate the next time. After that it’s just an old shirt. So yeah, I’ll get to it eventually, but it has to be the right time. That’s something you can’t force. If anything, it’s too nice of a shirt. I may never get around to wearing it. And that would actually be a good thing, get it?

Please, don’t mistake my not eating very much of this meal as any sort of judgment on your cooking, it’s delicious, really, it’s just that, I’m still full from lunch. That happens sometimes, you eat lunch but it kind of just sits in your stomach. Right? And your appetizers, I mean, they weren’t that big, but they were really filling. Even just that one bite that I took out of those … what was that, a celery stick, yes, but filled with what? Yogurt? Cream cheese? Mayo? I couldn’t pinpoint the tartness exactly, and, when you put chocolate chips instead of raisins, was that on purpose? Those were raisins? Right, of course they were. And they were delicious. Can I take some of this home? Because I’m totally going to wolf it down tomorrow.

And come on, I think you’re a great driver, but I couldn’t accept a ride home from you, it would be too much. Besides, I always walk home, it’s only like seven or eight miles, I’ll be home in no time. I know, I did look pretty anxious the last time you gave me a ride, but don’t take it personally, I’m nervous in any type of an automobile. Christ, you should see me on an airplane. And the constantly checking to make sure you looked when you turned, the grabbing onto the side handle, the violent flinching when you kind of ran that red light. Well, it was pretty much red. Yeah, well, just because you didn’t get pulled over doesn’t mean you didn’t run the light. But whatever, you nailed it. You’re a great driver. But I’m going to walk.

And, again, I’m sorry if I misunderstood the reason you had us all over. I had no idea you were trying to organize canvassers to help out on Election Day. And bravo to you, seriously, that’s very commendable, getting out there, providing a great role model for the rest of us regular citizens. It’s not that I don’t want to help … I told you this already, right? Yeah, it’s just, I thought you were just having people over to have people over, not to fundraise or organize, or … and yeah, I’m a grassroots guy all the way. Except for right now. I’m so tired. I think that huge lunch from before, it’s turning into an upset stomach. Good thing I didn’t waste that shirt on tonight, am I right?

Well, hopefully this long walk home will help everything settle down inside. But let’s hang out soon, OK? Next Monday? Next Monday I think I’m busy. Actually, all of next week, and the week after that, man, I can’t believe I was even able to get free tonight. But this headache. Soon, definitely soon. See, look, I’m writing you in my calendar, “soon.” I’ll see you soon, man. Later.

Very uncomfortable (a long complaint to nobody)

I’m so tired. And cold. If it weren’t so cold I’d probably have fallen asleep already, right here at my computer, just head down on the table asleep in this chair. And if it were warmer, maybe if I had an extra sweater, a scarf, definitely something with a hood, and then I fell asleep, it would be one of those sleeps where I’m too exhausted even to shift positions, and that’s probably also compounded by the fact that, in this chair, at this table, I don’t really have any other positions to shift into, my whole body being kind of weirdly balanced, forehead right on the table, torso slumped over. And everybody knows what happens next: two, three hours passed out like this, something’s going to get cut off, no circulation, no blood. Probably my legs, not just part of my legs, the whole thing. Think about it. I’m slumped over, my legs are kind of tucked under the chair, and so the pinch, the spot where the blood’s not going to be able to flow through, it’s right there, like at my pelvis.

And whatever, I’d get up, both of my legs would be asleep, I’d probably get one of those throbbing headaches from my head having been bent down accumulating blood for so long. And dry mouth. Dry nose. I’d stand up and just be really in a lot of pain, a lot of dry uncirculated discomfort. And I’d get up, try to walk around in circles to get everything back to normal, drinking water, maybe take some Advil, eventually go to bed. But then I’d be laying there for the rest of the night, and even though my legs wouldn’t be hurting anymore, it’s always, you know, you get that sort-of throbbing, that kind-of discomfort which, maybe a normal person could successfully fall asleep to, but all I’m thinking of is: deep vein thrombosis. Blood clots. Peripheral artery disease. Scurvy. Just enough paranoid terror to keep my exhausted body and mind in a state of half sleep, thinking about my legs, about the time, about how I should have had eight hours of sleep tonight, nine even, ten. But now it’d just be eight hours of laying down, twisting in bed, trying to keep myself from freaking out.

But I’m not falling asleep right here, right in this chair, even though I am really tired, I haven’t slept much at all this weekend. It’s because it’s so cold in my house. The chill is keeping me just awake enough to write this long whiney complaint. I spent a few days away and turned down the thermostat before I left. Something happened, I don’t know what really, but the heat wound up shutting off completely, so when I walked in the door it was like, Jesus, it’s f’n cold in here, really cold. So I got the furnace going and started cranking everything up. And there’s hot air coming out of the radiators, so it’s on, but two, two and a half days away? The whole house is like a refrigerator. A giant refrigerator that’s all of the sudden being invaded by really dry furnace heat, pumping out through the walls, making that hissing sound. And everything in the house, having been so cold, now getting heated up so fast, it’s all condensing around me, the glasses and plates getting wet, frosted, like when you take a mug out of the freezer. And it’s the same with the tile floor.

And so yeah it’s really cold, but the air is really hot and dry. Does this make any sense? I’ve since put on a sweater. And another sweatshirt on top of that. I’m wearing a hood now. I’m still freezing. And tired. And now the drastic change in temperature is making my skin itch, it’s going to be one of those nights where, even though I’m not worried about deep vein thrombosis, I’m going to be scratching at my dry skin all night, the same restlessness, the same non-sleep.

I think really I’m just overtired. Tired and complaining. Complaining and cold. And itchy.

Wow, I’m feeling really tired today

I’m so tired. Like I couldn’t even get out of bed today. Like I’m still in bed. I slept for maybe twelve hours. I don’t know why I’m still so beat. I’m seriously still under the covers. I keep trying to get up but my eyes, even if I can force them open for more than two seconds, it’s like my eyelids are just weighed down with extra gravity, and then when I eventually give up and they slam shut I keep telling myself, just fight it Rob, just stay awake, even if your eyes are closed, just don’t fall asleep, just concentrate on mustering the energy to pry your eyes open again. And then by the time I actually open them up and I look at the clock I realize that I in fact did fall asleep, that my willpower was nothing compared to how tired I am, that an hour has passed and this day keeps slipping further and further out of my hands.

And so I’m resigned to the fact that I can’t get out of bed. It’s just too much today. I feel like a parasite must be attached to my body somewhere, sucking me dry, leaving me this empty husk of a person, unable to stay awake. You might be asking yourself, how are you writing this Rob? If you’re so exhausted, stuck in bed, how are you at your computer writing? I’m not. I gave up on trying to get out of bed. I’m on my phone, typing it out on the touch screen. It’s taking forever. I’ll get stuck on a word for like two whole minutes, back and forth, me trying really carefully to hit the right letter, but because my fingers are so big, and the screen so tiny, and I’m so tired, I just don’t have the energy necessary to really aim my fingers, and I keep messing up. And then when I finally get a word right, the phone thinks I’m trying to spell a different word, and it does me the favor of changing the word automatically, without even asking, and I’m back to square one. It sounds like a long and tedious process. It is. I’ve been working on this blog post for the past eight hours. I’ve already taken like twelve naps.

I feel like my body has started hibernation, like a bear. If I’m really quiet I can’t even hear my heart beating, because even though I’m still alive, (I have to be alive, right?) my heart is still beating, but the beats have slowed down so much, to such a crawl that if I try to listen for an individual beat, it sounds like I’m dead, because the spaces in between each beat are just too long, way too long to maintain concentration on listening, I can’t keep the focus for that long, and so maybe there was a beat, but I missed it, I fell asleep or something.

Hibernation isn’t just about sleeping and a slower heart rate. Everything’s slower. My metabolism is just barely on at all. And that’s too bad, because right before I went to sleep last night I made myself a huge plate of fettuccine alfredo. I figured I’d carboload, give myself the fuel for a productive tomorrow. But I can just feel every strand of fettuccine just hanging out in my stomach. And I’m trying to will my digestive system into action. I’m like, “Come on stomach! Metabolize!” But nobody can control their organs, not consciously, and I’ve wasted so much of my non-energy on just visualizing my intestines, trying to kick-start the whole Krebs Cycle (Krebs Cycle? I don’t think I used that right) into action.

When did I miss twelve phone calls? Who even calls any more? Inbox full? How long have I been asleep? I don’t remember having this full beard. Who installed this catheter? Why would whatever hospital I’ve woken up in spend so much time making sure the catheter is installed correctly but not bother to give me a shave every now and then? Can I take out this IV? Is this feeding tube really necessary? Hello?

When Rip Van Winkle woke up the colonists won the American Revolution. Maybe I’ve woken up and the conservatives have finally won the Romney Revolution. That was a funny joke. Maybe a little too funny. I actually laughed a little too hard and I think I’ve in the process wasted all of the energy that my body was slowly starting to build back up, and now the laughing is over and I’m just so sleepy, maybe I’ll just take little a nappy-nap, just for a minute, because my eyes are so heavy.