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Gratitude vs. Self-pity
My last entry was about 12 hours ago, which means, yep, I'm up around 3 again. I haven't been able to sleep through the night for almost a week. Here's the worst part: I've been falling asleep with the light on.
3 AM is stress.
Light on means I'm worried about nightmares, even though I've been doing it unintentionally.
I treat these things like there is some kind of spiritual component; but the truth is it is likely chemical. People who suffer from seizures usually have 'tells' that let them know one is coming on. Heck, I have miagraines every now and then and usually get auras to give me an indicator that the spewing and pounding pain will begin shortly. I'm starting to wonder if dreaming is the same way. Part of me is thinking, "Maybe this is a medical problem." The other part would be sad if my dreams went away. And there's nothing really painful about it, just the weirdness of being up in the middle of the night.
I've been vascillating between gratitude and self-pity. But I have to tell you these middle of the night sessions are the one time I am really and truly glad that there is no significant other whose sleep is interrupted along with mine. I can get up, write, cook, do the dishes, and no one is disturbed. In fact this whole past year or so has been a time in which I have been profoundly lonely, but simultaneously grateful for the space and time I've been granted to myself.
The election made me feel really wealthy, even before the results came in. Voting on the minimum wage amendment made me realize that I am making about double what people on minimum wage have. I'm struggling, but I'm not indigent. Even zooming around in the Time Machine, which is in desperate need of a tune-up, I've felt so damn grateful for transportation. I'm also grateful for a warm place to stay, (a trailer) for the few people I still have in my life.
The self-pity mostly involves my job, the singular lack of male entertainment, and the loss of crappy friends who prefer the company of boring men to my eccentric self. And the occasional insight that even if I'm driving around in the Time Machine and getting up in the trailer at 3 AM to do the dishes that most people would not consider this, "Living well."
I have always hated the saying, "Living well is the best revenge," because even when I'm doing pretty well, very rarely does it look like anything anyone else wants. Having ones situation be revenge for someone else requires their envy, and my life has very rarely garnered much of that. No, I'd rather people have some sort of insight to the pain they cause others, which is something I'm overly aware of for myself at times. The only good part about not having very many people in my life at this time is knowing I'm not causing many of them any suffering.
Dad's symphony is playing Beethoven's 6th tomorrow night. (I mean, tonight.) I'm thinking about going. It's a childhood favorite, not because of Fantasia (which my parents viewed as a sacrilege and I did not see until college) but because I had "A Child's Introduction to the Orchestra" record which took the symphony apart to show how all the elements come together as a whole. I loved this record, and associate it with the symphony and all that was good about my childhood, even if the real reason I was drawn to it as a child was because it had a blue monkey toy on the cover playing the cymbals.
3 AM is stress.
Light on means I'm worried about nightmares, even though I've been doing it unintentionally.
I treat these things like there is some kind of spiritual component; but the truth is it is likely chemical. People who suffer from seizures usually have 'tells' that let them know one is coming on. Heck, I have miagraines every now and then and usually get auras to give me an indicator that the spewing and pounding pain will begin shortly. I'm starting to wonder if dreaming is the same way. Part of me is thinking, "Maybe this is a medical problem." The other part would be sad if my dreams went away. And there's nothing really painful about it, just the weirdness of being up in the middle of the night.
I've been vascillating between gratitude and self-pity. But I have to tell you these middle of the night sessions are the one time I am really and truly glad that there is no significant other whose sleep is interrupted along with mine. I can get up, write, cook, do the dishes, and no one is disturbed. In fact this whole past year or so has been a time in which I have been profoundly lonely, but simultaneously grateful for the space and time I've been granted to myself.
The election made me feel really wealthy, even before the results came in. Voting on the minimum wage amendment made me realize that I am making about double what people on minimum wage have. I'm struggling, but I'm not indigent. Even zooming around in the Time Machine, which is in desperate need of a tune-up, I've felt so damn grateful for transportation. I'm also grateful for a warm place to stay, (a trailer) for the few people I still have in my life.
The self-pity mostly involves my job, the singular lack of male entertainment, and the loss of crappy friends who prefer the company of boring men to my eccentric self. And the occasional insight that even if I'm driving around in the Time Machine and getting up in the trailer at 3 AM to do the dishes that most people would not consider this, "Living well."
I have always hated the saying, "Living well is the best revenge," because even when I'm doing pretty well, very rarely does it look like anything anyone else wants. Having ones situation be revenge for someone else requires their envy, and my life has very rarely garnered much of that. No, I'd rather people have some sort of insight to the pain they cause others, which is something I'm overly aware of for myself at times. The only good part about not having very many people in my life at this time is knowing I'm not causing many of them any suffering.
Dad's symphony is playing Beethoven's 6th tomorrow night. (I mean, tonight.) I'm thinking about going. It's a childhood favorite, not because of Fantasia (which my parents viewed as a sacrilege and I did not see until college) but because I had "A Child's Introduction to the Orchestra" record which took the symphony apart to show how all the elements come together as a whole. I loved this record, and associate it with the symphony and all that was good about my childhood, even if the real reason I was drawn to it as a child was because it had a blue monkey toy on the cover playing the cymbals.