I’m in this very comfy bed. Sleepless. I refuse to go the sleeping pills route. I can only sit in the silent darkness listening to the creaks in the house and the outdoor creepy crawlies. So instead, I’m allowing the incomparable Al Green to tell me that the way I love him is Simply Beautiful.
Being home has been lovely, but it’s still not bringing me the much desired sleep that I have been lacking for over a month now. The restlessness goes beyond my thoughts and sits in the pit of my stomach. Ultimately, I do get some sleep, but it’s typically during the day. This would be perfect if I were actually a vampire, or owl, or a tarsier (the animal with the haunting large eyes). Since I am a human woman that works during the daylight hours, this doesn’t work so much for me.
I’m getting to the point where I hate nighttime, because I know everyone else is going to sleep soundly, and I’ll invariably witness five am stroll in. Can I blame part of my insomnia on night being on the receiving end of a foot rub in ages? Or a back rub? Or a rub of ANY sort. Yeah. I can’t sleep because I’m rubless. Marinate on that.