Can we add a few hours to the day?

On second thought...that would suck, unless they're sleep-hours. I'm still kicking. Mostly. My "treatment" for sleep difficulties has increased my depression (because God knows, it would be BAD for something that works so well to have no side effects). I love sleep meds because they take all the stress out of bedtime. But they put mucho stress into the rest of the day. Not of the good, lemme tell you. Muscle tension that makes me feel like my neck muscles are squeezing off the blood supply to my head is my symptom of the month. I'm trying very very hard to not "make war" on it and hate it like the hateful little bugger that it is. Trying VERY hard. Not succeeding. I absolutely hate these symptoms. I hate the psychological effect they have on me, I hate the feeling of weakness and hopelessness. I hate feeling like this is never going to change. And I REALLY hate feeling sorry for myself. But it's there, in big neon pink lettering in my head. Did I mention I hate neon pink?

Behold...an update!

I hate it when bloggers go into long excuses laden explanations about why they haven't updated in elevendy billion days or so. I'll skip that. I'm here. I've been riding this roller coaster around the park for so long now I'm thinking the season pass might not be a bad investment. I can finally say I've got the anxiety mostly under control. The weird physical symptoms with seemingly no good explanation and the freaksome things that my mind makes up about them...not really better or worse. Still there. My current issue is a pinched nervy feeling in my left arm that's been around off and on for a month or so. My inner hypo is taking comfort in the fact that if I was having a heart attack a)it's been going on a loooong time and b)if it was heart related that kick boxing/step aerobics class I took yesterday would surely have finished me off. I had an interesting experience last night, my first (and if I have anything to say about it LAST) sleep study. The nice lady at Rex Hospital Sleep center attached about 20 electrodes to my scalp, FACE, legs, chest, a doohicky in my nose to torture me and a pulse monitor on my finger. All of these were attached to wires which were attached to a box. Did I mention I toss and turn a lot at night? Do they really think that trussing someone with sleep difficulties up with wiry torture devices is really going to give them a representative night sleep? Well, the good news is I don't have apnea. But I was pretty certain of that to start off with. I do now know, without a doubt that I am a sleep snob. I must have a variety of creature comforts without which bitchiness ensues. And then the hilarity. Oh the humanity. I need a nap.
Pic is a snap of the fine item currently decorating my cube at work. Target rocks.

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

edited to remove a paragraph of that poem that kind of depressed me.

Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more'...

I thought the above quote was appropriate because I am having freaky insomnia on Shakespearean proportions!! Never before have I experienced sleep paralysis before, but gosh darn it, I know what it feels like now! I have to say it was the least freaky experience of the evening, frankly because I understand the physiology of why it happens AND I'm not one of the folks who experiences this and thinks they have been abducted by aliens. The part that's really bothering me is the 'constantly waking up, thinking there's someone in my room or not knowing where I am, or just tossing and turning with a general unease. Oh, and tylenol PM sucks. No effect whatsoever. I'm seeing my doctor on Thursday and I've narrowed it down to Rozerem or Lunesta. I need something to get me through these long nights (and the even longer days on little sleep). I'm going to start talking in prose soon because I've been reading Shakespeare at night when I can't sleep. I'm sticking to the comedies, though...wouldn't want to have bad dreams!
O God! I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and
count myself a king of infinite space, were it not
that I have bad dreams.
- Shakespeare

Seriously, though, the Bard rocks...even though I totally believe that there never lived a ,man called "Shakespeare". (I subscribe to the Marlowe theory)

After all this whining about my sleep, it really is the only thing I've got to complain about. My mindfulness class is going to wrap up in a few weeks and I can't believe the difference in the way I deal with stress. It's been a Godsend.

and this post would not be complete without 'diabolical kitty with grammar issues'.

Mad Mission

It's a cop out, but when I'm feeling good I don't much feel like blogging, I would like to share a song I've been listening to.
Mad Mission by Patty Griffin
We were drinking like the Irish
But we were drinking scotch
Bartender turned on a movie
Everybody turned to watch
And every single eye was gleaming
As he reached the final scene
Well, at least mine did
Here's lookin' at you, kid

It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up

I think I've seen the look before,yes,
it's kind of non-commital
It says come hither, baby, but then he's hard wood to whittle
it says it don't mean a thing, but still, somebody does
He'd like you to join the club that likes to say
there's no such thing as love and

It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up

Sometimes you find yourself
flying low at night
Flying blind and looking for
Any sign of light
You're cold and scared, and all alone
You'd do anything just to make it home

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.

Not till the loom is silent, and shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver's hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
Anonymous

Love After Love

Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you have ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
-Derek Walcott