Bipolar Disorder, Everyday Life

Sleepless in the Desert

There is this movie called Sleepless in Seattle, with two people who have some kind of a relationship and I think it has to do with not sleeping, hence what the title implies.  However, I really have no clue because I have not seen the movie.  Oh is Meg Ryan in that one?  Tom Hanks?  I guess I could google but my google minutes have expired.

Regardless, they were sleepless (probably having a hell of a better time than I am) and hot damn, I too am sleepless.  Long are the days of oversleeping and rushing through the house like my tail is on fire and trying to make it to the office before my boss noticed that I was looking a wreck and a good 30 minutes late.

These days I am up well before the sun, tip toeing through the house trying to not knock anything over like a game of mouse trap.  I even went as far as to buy instant coffee so I could HAVE coffee but would not have to deal with the LOUD sound that the coffee maker makes when it is proudly done making my bean juice.  I am clumsy.  The attempt to stay quiet is a tough one.  I just see a table or a chair and there is this force that is drawing me into it, knocking off a water bottle and then instinctively cursing when it clamors to the ground.

I try to be productive when I am up.  I lay in bed for a while contemplating, like Pinky and the Brain, how to take over the world, and then I give in and up and get out of bed.  Where my baby kitty allows the world to know that his queen mommy is now awake and we should all bow in her presence (slight exaggeration of what is actually happening, but since he is a cat and we do not know what he IS saying, I can make up whatever I want).  Talk about making noise.  Between me getting up and his announcement it is not a wonder that they whole house is not awake.

I work in my sewing room a lot.  I can close the door and I walk through a wardrobe and then I am at my Narnia, minus the snow, no snow in the desert.  I cannot actually sew because Gertrude (that is what I named my sewing machine) is a little on the loud side and I am working tirelessly on being quiet.  I iron, cut out fabric to assemble masks.  Pretty sure if the count serves me right, I have surpassed 150 two ply cotton face masks made with ¾ of those being donated.

The real kicker is that I can turn my brain off (for the most part) while sewing.  My fingers work (unlike this typing attempt here) and my brain is so focused on not sewing my own finger that I can tune out the nonsense and get what I want to get done, done.

Last night, I fell asleep in the chair, it is what I do every night Pinky. As result, I did not switch my wash and need to now rewash my new fabric (purchased to make masks).  This totally messes up my plan for the morning (which had been to iron and cut out patterns).  Running the washer (bearing loose or off) is not a considerate thing to do in the morning, neither is the dryer when it is not even 5 AM.

So, I sit, and I write.  I think.  I sip my water.  I anxiously wait for the sun to come up, for 6 AM to roll around and I can get to getting to it.

I miss the days of sleeping, and sleeping in.  There must be a gift in the sleeplessness.  What that is, I may never know, but it is there.  I will wait for it to come to me.

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