I haven’t been this tired since setback night on the ship when everyone took the extra hour as an excuse for getting drunk and doing foolish things, usually lasting more than the extra hour and way into the early morning light. The kind of tiredness that makes you look at a printed page and discover the words flowing and merging into a gray blur. The kind that brings on a wispy cloud and wraps it around your head so you feel disconnected from the world in some ways.
Last night I was in a manic mode trying to do several things at once. I ordered more fabric online because I wanted to make a few more things, I downloaded videos from our camera and wanted to e-mail them to my parents and my sister-in-law (I did end up emailing Liz but it was to brag that I might get my boss’s job—big joke!), and put it up on YouTube and Facebook too. Did not have time to do that. I frantically looked at the clock and realized it’s 10pm, and I always try to be in bed before that. I quickly did my stretches (for pelvic upslip, which are not going away, by the way, and every day I’m getting more and more dependent on drugs!), counting faster than a second should go, while making a mental list to get more zippers so I could make more cushions, to throw away the old ones, to pack the spice rack—what the heck, I’m not making any dinners from tonight until we move in, what’s the number for Panago Pizza—and to remind my husband to get the wardrobe boxes. Oh wait, I said it out loud, “Need another zipper.” Andrew gently reminds me that there’s nowhere I could get a zipper at 10pm anyway, so I should just relax. I shoot him a glance through my legs that are twisted in painful exercise; darn, I lost my count. Grunt, grunt.
Seven hours is still too short for me. Especially many nights in a row. And more to come, as moving day draws near (2 days to go!). For now, I am seriously contemplating a fresh cup of cappuccino from the Finnerty Café; too bad Starbucks is too far—I wouldn’t mind a frappe either.
Last night I was in a manic mode trying to do several things at once. I ordered more fabric online because I wanted to make a few more things, I downloaded videos from our camera and wanted to e-mail them to my parents and my sister-in-law (I did end up emailing Liz but it was to brag that I might get my boss’s job—big joke!), and put it up on YouTube and Facebook too. Did not have time to do that. I frantically looked at the clock and realized it’s 10pm, and I always try to be in bed before that. I quickly did my stretches (for pelvic upslip, which are not going away, by the way, and every day I’m getting more and more dependent on drugs!), counting faster than a second should go, while making a mental list to get more zippers so I could make more cushions, to throw away the old ones, to pack the spice rack—what the heck, I’m not making any dinners from tonight until we move in, what’s the number for Panago Pizza—and to remind my husband to get the wardrobe boxes. Oh wait, I said it out loud, “Need another zipper.” Andrew gently reminds me that there’s nowhere I could get a zipper at 10pm anyway, so I should just relax. I shoot him a glance through my legs that are twisted in painful exercise; darn, I lost my count. Grunt, grunt.
Seven hours is still too short for me. Especially many nights in a row. And more to come, as moving day draws near (2 days to go!). For now, I am seriously contemplating a fresh cup of cappuccino from the Finnerty Café; too bad Starbucks is too far—I wouldn’t mind a frappe either.
