Ack. Insomnia!
Bolt awake again, for no reason worthy enough to justify the sleeplessness.
I often am jolted out of sleep by mini panic attacks, usually to the tune of "You're going to DIE!" When I sit and look at the numbers it doesn't seem so bad until I realize that, hey, you know, it's only a couple years until I am half the age my mom was when she died. Blather all you like about good odds and taking care of yourself and blah, blah, blah; if a member of your family died that young, it'd give you a moment's pause, too to know that if genes play hell, you might have a lower expiration date than you thought.
I'm nearly 30. I don't feel used-up, old, or like I am losing my edge in any way. I'm just hitting my stride. I'm an adult, finally. Every year is another log on a bright-burning fire. So be assured, I'm not one of those pathological women who plans on spending her 30s in a haze of denial, then launching into a grotesque parody of youth when I'm 40. Hell, I don't even plan on dyeing my hair if I start to go grey (unless it looks genuinely bad on me, which I don't expect it will). It's conceivable I might continue to play with my hair color, but that's more out of me liking the thought of red hair than out of me not liking the thought of having a little salt in my pepper.
I might fail utterly at aging with grace, you can never say, but I plan on handling it. I quit thinking of myself as a "girl" a while back, and I'm perfectly comfortable calling mysef a woman now. Just one of the past couple of years' few unexpected gifts, I guess. Yeah, it's weird to think about the "half over" thing, but it's not the same as "half done." I'm not ever going to feel "finished." I hope to god I never become one of those living dead old people who just suck and mutter around, who lose all their mental dexterity, all their snap and fire. You know the ones I mean. They're only waiting to die.
I'm not like that. I won't be like that.
I think I'll like being 30. You know how you defiantly add that "and a HALF" on when you're, like, twelve, and you really think it makes a frigging difference? I told someone yesterday that I'm 29 and a HALF with that same sense of pride. I'm almost to one of the really good numbers! (Ironically, the guy I said this to guessed my age at around 20, so it may be that I'm only cavalier about getting older because I look very young.)
All that said, I don't feel so good. As previously implied, I'm up at whatever o'clock because I've been awake since five-thirty. Not sleeping, in other words. And I felt truly ill after donating hit points yesterday, hence the lack of a "Hey there, I'm not dead!" post. That was my bad. I didn't drink enough before I went in, and I was barely above the bar for iron levels.
It was still decreed that I had enough hit points to donate a few, albeit by a narrow margin. Still, gotta do it. One donation can be spread among three lower-level characters, you know. Added up, I've saved the equivalent of fifteen first-level mages, or three fifth-level rangers, or one 15th-level fighter (hopefully a first-edition barbarian).
I'm pretty sure I get experience points, too. So it's a for-real win/win situation. I wonder, if I listen really hard will I hear a little ding-ding sound when I level up?
I'm pretty sure I'm not leveling up this time; I feel like too much crap. Maybe next time. Besides. It's all worth it.
Warm blood-donor fuzzies and a swag new Red Cross tee shirt aside, I have loads of actual work to do. Most of which I am not at all interested in pursuing, although that may be the blood loss induced apathy and lack of sleep talking. I wanted to paint last night, and I want to paint now, but I'm way, way too tired.
I'll settle for trying to sleep a little more, and hoping that this weekend gives me time to do the crap I need to do, like catch up on the stuff that Christmas sort of ate.
Ugh. I need more hours in the day.
I often am jolted out of sleep by mini panic attacks, usually to the tune of "You're going to DIE!" When I sit and look at the numbers it doesn't seem so bad until I realize that, hey, you know, it's only a couple years until I am half the age my mom was when she died. Blather all you like about good odds and taking care of yourself and blah, blah, blah; if a member of your family died that young, it'd give you a moment's pause, too to know that if genes play hell, you might have a lower expiration date than you thought.
I'm nearly 30. I don't feel used-up, old, or like I am losing my edge in any way. I'm just hitting my stride. I'm an adult, finally. Every year is another log on a bright-burning fire. So be assured, I'm not one of those pathological women who plans on spending her 30s in a haze of denial, then launching into a grotesque parody of youth when I'm 40. Hell, I don't even plan on dyeing my hair if I start to go grey (unless it looks genuinely bad on me, which I don't expect it will). It's conceivable I might continue to play with my hair color, but that's more out of me liking the thought of red hair than out of me not liking the thought of having a little salt in my pepper.
I might fail utterly at aging with grace, you can never say, but I plan on handling it. I quit thinking of myself as a "girl" a while back, and I'm perfectly comfortable calling mysef a woman now. Just one of the past couple of years' few unexpected gifts, I guess. Yeah, it's weird to think about the "half over" thing, but it's not the same as "half done." I'm not ever going to feel "finished." I hope to god I never become one of those living dead old people who just suck and mutter around, who lose all their mental dexterity, all their snap and fire. You know the ones I mean. They're only waiting to die.
I'm not like that. I won't be like that.
I think I'll like being 30. You know how you defiantly add that "and a HALF" on when you're, like, twelve, and you really think it makes a frigging difference? I told someone yesterday that I'm 29 and a HALF with that same sense of pride. I'm almost to one of the really good numbers! (Ironically, the guy I said this to guessed my age at around 20, so it may be that I'm only cavalier about getting older because I look very young.)
All that said, I don't feel so good. As previously implied, I'm up at whatever o'clock because I've been awake since five-thirty. Not sleeping, in other words. And I felt truly ill after donating hit points yesterday, hence the lack of a "Hey there, I'm not dead!" post. That was my bad. I didn't drink enough before I went in, and I was barely above the bar for iron levels.
It was still decreed that I had enough hit points to donate a few, albeit by a narrow margin. Still, gotta do it. One donation can be spread among three lower-level characters, you know. Added up, I've saved the equivalent of fifteen first-level mages, or three fifth-level rangers, or one 15th-level fighter (hopefully a first-edition barbarian).
I'm pretty sure I get experience points, too. So it's a for-real win/win situation. I wonder, if I listen really hard will I hear a little ding-ding sound when I level up?
I'm pretty sure I'm not leveling up this time; I feel like too much crap. Maybe next time. Besides. It's all worth it.
Warm blood-donor fuzzies and a swag new Red Cross tee shirt aside, I have loads of actual work to do. Most of which I am not at all interested in pursuing, although that may be the blood loss induced apathy and lack of sleep talking. I wanted to paint last night, and I want to paint now, but I'm way, way too tired.
I'll settle for trying to sleep a little more, and hoping that this weekend gives me time to do the crap I need to do, like catch up on the stuff that Christmas sort of ate.
Ugh. I need more hours in the day.