I came home yesterday tired as heck. I had been run like a dog, texted with supply requests, pelted with calls like an operator.

I had walked my 10,000 steps, mainly inspecting academic buildings and stocking PPE (person protective equipment to last over the weekend. I’m still doing the Tory day squat challenge 130 yesterday.

I hadn’t been sleeping well the last two weeks or so. Two or three hours at most, the rest of the time is spent tossing and turning out laying wide awake or groggy wondering why I can’t sleep. I dig sound work all day half awake half asleep. I tried to fall asleep everywhere- at the bus stop, walking on the sidewalk, in the elevator, on the ladder in the warehouse, on the toilet, and in front of the urinal.

I couldn’t write yesterday. I couldn’t finish a coherent thought. I couldn’t remember what I had been writing before I dozed off. I couldn’t remember my count on my squats. I had to do quick sets of 5 and Mark it down so I knew where I was until I reached 130.

I clocked out five minutes early yesterday, so I could catch a slightly earlier bus because I was afraid I would fall asleep at the bus stop and miss the later bus.

It was a rough long day made even tougher by fighting off the sleep I had prayed for all night long.

I wanted to get home early, eat a quick meal, and go to bed early, doped up on NyQuil and melatonin, washed down by Sleepytime chamomile tea. And hopefully sleep for five hours.

I wanted to, but God and life laugh at our plans.

I spent the evening before, Wednesday evening, cleaning out cabinets and drawers in the kitchen and bathroom in preparation for a Thursday morning visit from the exterminator. I live in a regular neighborhood; we have a roach problem. We have always had a roach problem and periodically, every three months or so, when they start blocking the stairwell and knocking over trashcans, an exterminator comes in and sprays under the counters, behind the refrigerator, behind the toilet, et. I don’t know what he sprays. When I first moved in, the insecticide would smell for days. Now, I can’t smell it when I get home, the day it was sprayed.

I got home Wednesday and there was a notice on the neighbor’s door that the exterminator was due on Thursday – no one in the front office knows where my notice went – and I spent all Wednesday evening, well, I just wrote that. I am still half-awake, as you can see.

Then, I spent half an hour or so Thursday morning, half an hour, or so, clearing away the coffee pot and rice cooker butter jam and other breakfast stuff before I went to work. I cleaned out the cabinets and piled everything in the living room

I wanted to but I had to get everything back into the kitchen first, while trying to make pasta and a salad while trying to keep my eyes open.

Then trying to get them shut, because after I ate dinner, after I downed the Nyquil, and suckled the melatonin tablets, and poured lukewarm chamomile down my drain, I couldn’t go to sleep. I had been a groggy, irritable mess all morning, desperately wishing people would leave me alone, so I could find a nice, dark closet to nap in. But, last night, I barely slept. My longest stretch was three and a half hours , which I can get without doing anything special.

I am very disappointed and tired and bloated and wearing shoes that are too tight and wondering what I have to do to go to sleep tonight.

And, I work tomorrow. So no sleeping in. Or resting in. Laying in? Lying in?

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