No lists
I thought I might jot down a few sentences while I smoke a cigarette. It isn't all that late, but I'm tired. Fifteen minutes or so and I'm calling it a night. Some vampire I am, huh? Embarrassing!
But, in my own defense, I do have some things to get done over my long weekend, so getting about eight hours of sleep would be good. Impossible, but good. I can't remember the last time I slept more than three hours without waking up on fire. Yes, I'm complaining. I'm NEVER rested and I'm so sick of it. Over it. Looking for a gun or something because I cannot stand it! ARGH! I thought PMS was bad. Little did I know how wrong I was. This getting old shit is at least 10 times worse. My poor husband. Pray for him 'cuz I'll probably live.
I planned to write out a few lists this evening, but no. It was just too exhausting to think about all the things I need to do/buy/clean over the next few days that I gave up on that idea. Well, until morning. My menopausal brain thinks it wants to write stuff like letters and maybe even a manuscript, but can't even manage a list or two. Obviously, my little arbitrary niche is suffering as well.
Time to quit and crawl under the covers, turn the fan on, rip the covers off, drink a gallon of water, and wash, rinse, repeat...ALL FUCKING NIGHT.
But, in my own defense, I do have some things to get done over my long weekend, so getting about eight hours of sleep would be good. Impossible, but good. I can't remember the last time I slept more than three hours without waking up on fire. Yes, I'm complaining. I'm NEVER rested and I'm so sick of it. Over it. Looking for a gun or something because I cannot stand it! ARGH! I thought PMS was bad. Little did I know how wrong I was. This getting old shit is at least 10 times worse. My poor husband. Pray for him 'cuz I'll probably live.
I planned to write out a few lists this evening, but no. It was just too exhausting to think about all the things I need to do/buy/clean over the next few days that I gave up on that idea. Well, until morning. My menopausal brain thinks it wants to write stuff like letters and maybe even a manuscript, but can't even manage a list or two. Obviously, my little arbitrary niche is suffering as well.
Time to quit and crawl under the covers, turn the fan on, rip the covers off, drink a gallon of water, and wash, rinse, repeat...ALL FUCKING NIGHT.