It’s been like this for awhile now.
It’s almost midnight and I am awake. Mostly because I quite literally passed out earlier in the evening. Because I am exhausted all the time. Weary. And now I am up. But sleepy. My eyelids feel heavy. But when I lay down (as I did for about an hour and a half before writing this), I am wide awake. My mind is working. So I get up. I watch Sex and the City reruns and count the number of times they change the dialogue in the episodes I know by heart. I play Fish Frenzy on MSN. I explore the new laptop. I always say I am gonna be productive, blogging or finishing some more chapters of the book I told myself I would finish this year. But instead…
I watch the episode of Friends where Chandler and Joey leave baby Ben on the bus.
I pick my hair up off my chest and marvel at how long it’s gotten, twirling the soft strands around my fingertips.
I pick at my cuticles.
I download music from i.tunes.
I wish I had more West Coast friends who are up at this hour rather than all my friends being firmly planted on the Right Coast who are asleep, as normal people should be.
I reorganize my closets and drawers and clean my shoes.
I sigh alot.
Earlier today I was so damn sleepy at work (after struggling to get out of bed and getting to work late of course) that I took my lunch hour at 11am, and went and took a nap in my car. I fell fast asleep only to be awakened an hour later confused and still utterly exhausted. So I sucked down caffeine for the rest of the day so I wouldn’t fall asleep at my desk.
When I got home, still exhausted, I ate, and laid across the bed to check my email… and woke up 2 hours later. Confused and still utterly exhausted.
And then so begins the cycle mentioned before.
Such seems to be my life. This kinda cycle that I can’t get out of. If I were in a book (read: a rich, white, trust fund baby) this is the part where I would escape for months to an ashram in India to do yoga at sunrise. I’d salsa with a darkly handsome man in Spain. I’d swim naked in the crystal blue waters in Grecian isles. I’d climb mountains in Italy. I’d drink blood red wine in France and spend the day walking to the top of the pyramids in Egypt.
But I am not that.
Instead, I lay across the pile of clothes on my floor giggling in my head to Phoebe’s attempt at guitar playing and singing and hoping that the carpet is clean. I attempt to remember any one of the myriad of things that I have surely forgotten. I try to tell myself I need to go downstairs and cook the chicken I took out for lunch tomorrow. But notsomuch.
I am around. Just uninspired. And of course, entirely too dysfunctionally tired. Anybody wanna sponsor my Europe trip?