With Rami working nights and having the construction workers still showing up in our garden at 8am, the world spins faster and the sun flies across the sky too quickly. No set schedule like the rest of the world, we both walk like zombies through the mornings. Sitting out in the garden, we watch the grass grow in mumbled silence and blink too much, hoping the haze we’re in goes away before we have to interact with others.
I’m so tired that I feel like I’m back in my Bible as Literature class (which I’d recommend to anyone on the days I wasn’t exhausted) that was held in the much-too-comfy seats of the movie theatre and my eyes would involuntarily close as I’d try to down a frozen acai smoothie to stay awake (ah the years before I liked coffee). Working two or three jobs and playing rugby between my classes. My routine motto was I could sleep when I was dead, and I believed it, and my body kept pushing, and I kept going. I’m not 20 anymore.
Currently, I have a snoring bulldog with her full weight on my right forearm and if I move my hand or the computer even a centimeter, her neck wrinkles will move in and prevent me from writing this entirely. Her vibrations lull me to sleep the way my cat used to with her purrs. Luna is dangerous – a little ball of warmth, she’s one of those weighted blankets, and she’ll “get you” like she “gets us” almost every night. Currently, I feel like I need about 12 hours of sleep to wake up refreshed. Currently, I’m annoyed we even need to sleep in the first place, and even more upset that no one really even understands why we need to as humans. Once in high school biology, I wanted to do a research project on dreaming and the brain. My teacher told me there wasn’t enough research done – so I said screw it and did it on birds (did you know that the duck has a special gland that produces an oil that they have to put on their feathers to make them waterproof? Now you do).
I’m not writing this to complain, to be first in the “tired” race. I’ve been so much more tired – with nights where the weight of the world pressed in on my eyelid – and I know there are so many people out there right now, my husband included, who are way more tired than me. I don’t want to be tired. It isn’t a badge I wear proudly to show the work I’ve done.
The only problem with being tired right now is that the tired words are echoing in my head louder than the rest. They’re clouding my vision and interrupting my sentences – trying to drown out the creativity, the other ideas, other stories, until its a cacophony of sound that makes me want to say “screw it” and go take a shower and go to bed. You can’t focus on “I’m tired” when your thoughts are supposed to be doing other things. You can say I’m tired while you sit in class, you can say it while you do some jobs, but for writing, I need mental earplugs to selectively channel my thoughts, and seeing that in 2005, the American school system told me they don’t know how dreams work and pick something easier, I’m not sure we’re about to be able to get what I need anytime soon.
Maybe the shower will be more inspirational. Doesn’t’ matter. I’ve got 500 words down, and to me, that’s a success for a project like this, so even if I get three chapters in my head while I shave my legs, they’ll be reserved for my notebook, and then for my fairytale agent that’ll someday make it sellable and someday maybe you’ll have those chapters on your bookshelves instead of on a blog post.