Sleep ... Want

Ok, I understand that after going to bed around midnight and waking up at 6am, I'm not going to feel fully rested. That was Sunday night/Monday morning.

Monday? We went to bed around 10pm, woke up around 12:00am because of Ana, went back to sleep in Craig's bed around 12:30am, woke up around 6am. Don't feel fully rested. Still, somewhat understandable.

Tuesday? We went to bed at 9:30pm, Ana woke me at 4am briefly, but we went right back to sleep after she ran to the bathroom, and I woke again around 6am. Feel like the dead.

What's wrong with me that I never feel rested unless I have 10 hours or more? And it's not like I don't awaken around 5am almost every morning these days, then force myself back to sleep. It doesn't matter which bed we're in or whether or not I have to get up at 6. Gods, I want to wake up feeling refreshed, but I can't figure out why each and every night I go to sleep and awaken to exhaustion.

Add to this that to make up for it, I'm sleeping in later and later on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Last weekend was an exception since I was very sick Friday night and spent most of Saturday tired and in pain. :P

Want sleep ... was contemplating missing more work this morning just so I could sleep ...

An Escape

Everything has been so tense at work. I actually told my co-worker I was heading into the bathroom to take a five minute break to breathe (we don't get 15 minute breaks like normal workers), because I was near a panic attack. Traffic didn't help on the way home, and during that journey, I plotted something for myself. We would come home, change clothes, and grab a few things to take to the park.

We did change clothes, and I packed my drum, rattle, book, and small purse and we headed out on foot to the library. I picked up a book waiting for me and ended up in a very long conversation with an old woman who had much to say on the state of programs available to children and teens. While I enjoyed what she had to say, as her words circled around and began repeating themselves, I started thinking of the dying sunlight for the day and inched toward the door.

When she bid us a good evening and good luck in my parenting, we headed for Subway to grab some sandwiches for dinner. Upon finally arriving at the park, most of the east side of the park was in shadow and a cool breeze blew. We munched and crunched until I heard something that I could have sworn was a hot air balloon firing up or letting out its air. Sure enough, I looked over the trees behind Ana and saw a hot air balloon extremely close to the park and descending toward the lake.

I let Ana run to see it, and could make out a little of its colors behind the branches obscuring the lake. She came running back as I heard it firing up again. She said it had touched the water and shot back up. I told her about the time my mother and I went to a hot air balloon expo and described for Ana the way they fill them up with air. The long canvas sacks stretched out across fields, while people held the rings up for the gas to be let in.

We both noted that we could see the fire blazing a few times to help it get lift. After finishing our sandwiches, I heard another sound of an air balloon. Sure enough, a second one was coming down, this time on the west side of the park. Ana went running around the north track toward the balloon. We both missed seeing it touch down, but this time she saw "lots of people" inside, which proved to her that I was telling the truth that people were in the first ... it can't operate without at least one person inside. Apparently, this surprised her.

I decided it was time to drum, and took out my lovely to warm her up and get her ready. I sang songs and let Ana run about. Then I pulled out the drum from beneath my shirt, rubbed it a while, and tapped it lightly with the stick. The sound wasn't right, and at first I thought it was still cold and rubbed the skin some more, but no, her voice came back rasping. She tried to sing, but it had an echoing, dull, flapping sound behind it. I finally found the problem: there's a small crater where something has stretched out a part near the center that's preventing the skin from being tight. I tried different things to see if I could gently ease it into singing, but no luck. Quiet and a little sad, I decided it wasn't over until Bonnie said there was nothing to be done, and until then I'll just hope for the best.

The light was dying over in the west when I insisted to Ana that we head home. I sang songs for her, showtunes mostly, and made her laugh at all of the voices I could make--even the ones I hadn't intended *croak*.

The laundry is still washing and soon I'll have to attempt sleep again, but much of the tension has washed away from me. At least whatever was keeping me pulled tighter than my drum.