Sleepless Again
Lying awake. I've got an 8:30 class tomorrow.
At least it's only garden-variety insomnia, not the thoughtszippingrandomlyfromonesubjecttoanotherlikearoomfullofhypercaffienatedhamstersinplasticballs until I get up because I MUST! BAKE! COOKIES! despite the fact that it's the middle of the night.
Saw one of the school shrinks today, who seems nice enough. She's a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, though. She can't prescribe drugs; she can only tell me to do the same things that I've been told before.
"If you progressively tense and relax your muscles, it will help you relax." Except the ones that don't relax or get knotted up into cramps.
"Exercise can help you relax. When you're feeling stressed, you should go out for a walk!" Because when I'm already jittery and hypervigilant, being surrounded by a lot of random people is exactly what I need.
I hope COBRA comes through quickly, and that I can get the money to pay for it, so I can get my meds adjusted. The School Doc agrees, and even though the situation is frustrating, I know she's doing the best to help me help myself with the resources at hand.
And I think this has been building for longer than I thought. Feeling unsafe, even though where I live has a really low crime rate. I was driving home, feeling the same "what's the fastest route" agitation, when I realized: I didn't feel safe.
(Part of it is probably that I'm driving Grandmommie's Land Yacht while my car is in for repairs. It's awkward and has poor visibility.)
Speaking of Grandmommie: she's in a nursing home, going through physical therapy, which Ceece described as Boot Camp for old people. She says she feels like she's not making progress fast enough, but according to the staff, she's doing as little as possible. Which I understand; it hurts. But the only alternatives to physical therapy are a) being bedridden for the rest of her life, and b) dying, which I don't think she's ready to do just yet.
In March, I'm going to challenge myself to write 500 words on one of my WIPs EVERY DAY. Whatever I feel shiny about. Once I get myself in the habit of producing those words on a daily basis, I can work on my focus. But for now, 500 words of anything (or 15,500 for the month) is better than NO words on anything.
At least it's only garden-variety insomnia, not the thoughtszippingrandomlyfromonesubjecttoanotherlikearoomfullofhypercaffienatedhamstersinplasticballs until I get up because I MUST! BAKE! COOKIES! despite the fact that it's the middle of the night.
Saw one of the school shrinks today, who seems nice enough. She's a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, though. She can't prescribe drugs; she can only tell me to do the same things that I've been told before.
"If you progressively tense and relax your muscles, it will help you relax." Except the ones that don't relax or get knotted up into cramps.
"Exercise can help you relax. When you're feeling stressed, you should go out for a walk!" Because when I'm already jittery and hypervigilant, being surrounded by a lot of random people is exactly what I need.
I hope COBRA comes through quickly, and that I can get the money to pay for it, so I can get my meds adjusted. The School Doc agrees, and even though the situation is frustrating, I know she's doing the best to help me help myself with the resources at hand.
And I think this has been building for longer than I thought. Feeling unsafe, even though where I live has a really low crime rate. I was driving home, feeling the same "what's the fastest route" agitation, when I realized: I didn't feel safe.
(Part of it is probably that I'm driving Grandmommie's Land Yacht while my car is in for repairs. It's awkward and has poor visibility.)
Speaking of Grandmommie: she's in a nursing home, going through physical therapy, which Ceece described as Boot Camp for old people. She says she feels like she's not making progress fast enough, but according to the staff, she's doing as little as possible. Which I understand; it hurts. But the only alternatives to physical therapy are a) being bedridden for the rest of her life, and b) dying, which I don't think she's ready to do just yet.
In March, I'm going to challenge myself to write 500 words on one of my WIPs EVERY DAY. Whatever I feel shiny about. Once I get myself in the habit of producing those words on a daily basis, I can work on my focus. But for now, 500 words of anything (or 15,500 for the month) is better than NO words on anything.