I'm in the midst of a horrible spate of insomnia. Either I only sleep a couple of hours at a time, generally with awful dreams, with an hour or so of wakefulness in between. Every couple of nights I'll take one of the remaining Ambien from the chemo left-overs and be knocked out for 8-9 hours. That lets me catch up a bit. But today I am falling on my face a bit, unable not to work since our audit starts in less than a week and we're not ready, unable to work at full strength since I'm feeling so wobbly. Reconcile Balance Sheet accounts? Ok, I'll try, but really, I think I'll have to re-do most everything tomorrow.
One of the nightmares I had last night -- and let me be the first to say that reading Hunger Games at bedtime is probably not a good idea for me right now (thank goodness I'm only maybe 10 pages from the end of volume 3) -- was about me drowning. Repeatedly. I would watch myself wake up gasping for air, then I'd fall back asleep into the sharp realization that it was still happening. I've never had that dream before. And boy, I hope I don't have it again tonight. I don't know if it was really physically happening -- sleep apnea all of a sudden? -- or if it was just dreamed.
Drowning is one of my biggest fears.
And really, the dream-drowning is just a mirror of how I've been feeling lately, like I can't keep my head above water, paddle as I might. Just too much happening all at once, and I'm not in full possession of whatever faculties I might have possessed in the near-past, skills that helped me keep breathing no matter how deep things got.
That dream completely freaked me out.
And today I'm just exhausted. I felt fine yesterday (probably because of my Ambien-enforced eight hours). Today, just so wobbly, unable to concentrate, dreaming of one thing and one thing only: my pillow. OK, maybe two things, really: my pillow and my former wherewithal.
Here's hoping this passes soon. In the meantime, enjoying all this abundant oxygen, filling my lungs, savoring each breath.
XX
1 comment:
For what it's worth, you just dunked me in a small sychronicity pool with this episode. About a week ago I literally shot into a siutting position in the middle of the night and could not breathe, scaring the bejeezus out of Larissa (and myself) as I loudly gasp-wheezed for air. Creepy, humbling, mortalizing event, somehow. If there was a dream attached, I didn't remember it. The burning sensation in my throat led me to believe it was perhaps stomach acid-induced, but anyway, waking in the dark with wild, adrenal eyes feels so primal, I almost wish there had been a sabre-toothed tiger to go along with it. Oh, and by the way, I'm presently at page 32 in Hunger Games 3. Perhaps Collins is at fault. Keep breathing. XO Scoot McT
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