saving daylight

I really don't like daylight saving time. Especially when I have incurable insomnia. It really adds extra yucky-ness to the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I have read a million different articles on insomnia (okay, maybe fifty). Is it better to lie in bed and force yourself to meditate? Is it more stressful to toss and turn and worry about not sleeping? Should I get up and work? Or read? Or write? Should I watch television or listen to music? Many schools of thought exist on the topic; some say to stick it out in the dark while others say to get up and be productive. The truth is, there is no simple cure for insomnia. It's annoying and, well, just really annoying.

I am a good sleeper, too. I love to sleep. Sleeping is the best! So it doesn't really make sense that I am struck with sleepless nights. I worry too much. I don't worry enough. There is still so much to think about. I have two interviews on Tuesday. I don't have any clean clothes. CJ is not feeling good. I overreacted. I am sick. I am tired. I am a perpetual glutton for punishment. I have a huge zit on my chin. My skin is becoming transparent because, despite our best efforts, we could not locate the sun this weekend. I have been a jerk. I drove for a long time today. I couldn't sleep last night. Or the night before. I need new tires. I need to get the oil changed in my car. I am hungry.

Last night, when I finally drifted off around 3AM, I had a nightmare. I must not have been very sound asleep because it woke me up really abruptly. I was in a complete panic when I woke and could not fall back to sleep. In my dream, there were people trying to attack me and they were disguising themselves as demonic sheep. Considering I live on a farm and listen to sheep all day and night, this is terribly haunting. My point: nightmares do not help insomnia. An underlying, non-related point: sheep are scary in real life.

I have placed towels and sweatshirts at the bottom of both doors to the bedroom. The reason I did this was because my mom came to visit a few weeks ago and hasn't left. If that's not enough to make you sick, I'll tell you what is. Her butt. She smells like my 35th birthday felt: rotten. Her gas permeates the house, literally. It is not an exaggeration to say that it seeps through every crack and vent and pore throughout. the. entire. effing. house. It just might be the most disgusting thing in the world. (Apparently I use that expression a lot? I had no idea.) I digress. I wish she was as put off by it as others. Not only is it repulsive, it is a pretty clear indication that she is destroying her insides. It is also really rude if you ask me.

I give myself until March 20th before I have a complete nervous breakdown.