Tag: sleep

Humanity

Sleep, and not having it.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

What happens to me if I can’t get good sleep? For a week or so? Never twice in a row even!? (i have since gotten a couple good nights in..hence, ability to write somewhat coherently.

  • I cry before work and don’t know why
  • I change my clothes more than once in the mornings and look like a homeless person who wandered into a school- no one has said anything yet. I’m just not coherent, and my ‘I don’t care’ is high. Just put on another sweater, it’ll all work out.
  • I dread bed, no matter how tired I am or if the honey man is up there.
  • My patience… oh wherefor art thou?
  • My eyes get smaller and smaller and I squint at the world.
  • I fake it and fake it and fake it and start looking for a therapist with more determination because those who love me are commenting on my rawness. they are not buying into the fakery.
  • Thin skin means issues rise to the surface. No longer contained.
  • Good goddamned. I’m calling it boredom, but I think it’s the distractability of the sleep deprived. I’m getting bored with things that are different every single day, and it doesn’t make any sense. Boredom is a little dangerous for me. things will start to happen.
  • I lie in bed, exhausted, and just lie there. eyes closed, brain clicking along like a train on a track, nothing to resolve, nothing resolved, just click after click after click.

I definitely know that there are people with SERIOUS sleep issues, and I think mine is temporary, and so there, it is said. But good goddamn. I am so tired. Is this just the fifties for women? Really? Maybe. the ‘fucks to be given’ are leaving, if not gone entirely, and I’m relying on the world around me to adjust. Good idea? mm.

with slight concern, but only slight because i mean, who cares about my goddamned sleep, really? I mean, not even me.

I’ll get it done anyways. this is a clear ‘whatever’ situation and mood.

love love,

kate

ps. Maybe sleep is affecting my positivity? How you like me now?! Huh? Huh?

Yeah. It’s good.
Humanity

Life on the farm

Lovelovemotherexpletive

This week at my farm, the farmers were on vacation.

So a few of us farmer-adjacent people were in cahoots with nature and the forces of water, and were responsible for the keeping of the land and fowl while they were away. Myself, a chicken wrangler, and a niece and sister to the farmer took over. Ten days they’ve been gone. Said niece went off to college. Three markets I’ve handled, the irrigation of the carrots, a few very long days, and this week? -the covering of the chicken wrangler’s days off. Chicken chores do knock a person off her pedestal, I tell you. A farmfriend (actually, really) named Honey did harvest over the weekend in the middle and I’ve been washing as I find the time. Her name makes me feel like I’ve got on a good robe and Everything is going to work out fine. Zucchini still being the god of all things farm, there have been tractor trips out to the birds to feed them the spoils.

They are lucky birds, except for whatever is getting them in the night. I have walked the fences, not knowing where or how the creature higher-on-the-ladder is getting in. Motherfucker. Did I mention it has been quite warm? I think my sweat levels have been flat-out atrocious. And, this was my celebratory week, now that my school job has come to an end. It’s all just been so much harder than I expected. I can do it all, I can, but hard. its been hard.

I come to realize that I like work for work’s sake, but while it is good to know I can handle big things, I do like to turn it off, walk out and be free of it. I’ve got life at home, and I like to be part of it. This week I’ve had worry of the sorts that have kept me from sleeping well.

What if someone steals the truck? I don’t even know what kind of truck it is. What am I going to tell the cop, its a black truck. black. ? its a chevy. I got at least that far when i got to work the next day. black chevy pickup. Probably from after 2010.

What if I forgot to turn the water off at the house? Will the fucking coop float? Will the whole town run out of water?

How do I stop coyotes and fishers? Literally thought about owning a pistol today. I would have definitely shot, if i had been so armed. But no worries, its not guns that kill animals. Right? (ugh. fuck the gun rights people. keep your damn guns, just get rid of the fucking assault rifles, you dicks.)

sorry. okay. back to farm worries.

Can plants be hurt by too much water in the summer heat? Can i drown a swiss chard plant? What about the tomatoes? Will I know if they start exploding? Should I go in early again? Should I go now?

Sigh. My friends. I just want to sleep when I lie down. Just sleep. That’s it. I have napped this week and raised my children from the sofa in a stupor. That’s all I got this week. Maybe if i just keep saying Honey, and feel the nod to real, hopeful hippies everywhere, everything will work out. Maybe.

O, let us keep the faith, chickens. Let us keep the faith. Everything will work out okay.

Honey Honey Honey.

Love,

me.

young white chick on grass
Photo by Achim Bongard on Pexels.com
Humanity

Sunday, I slept til 8:30 am, a miracle.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

Sleep.

a miracle. my head is a little foggy, but there is coffee nearby, and a kid with a tiny tv in her lap. the table is cluttered again, as is regular, and there is a christmas tree bowling set-up, an empty water bottle on its side and an unattached cord, a wide fat white candle, two empty glasses and a box of magic cards. every chair has something on it. a scarf, a stolen coat, a gifted denim shirt, and a pretty brown bag that used to have dumplings in it. it is quite lovely really, that bag, especially for a bag that is explicitly for ‘take away’. i love it when the mundane are treated with craft and meaning.

i’m not sure what i came here to write about today, just know that i needed to. i’ve finished a book lately, Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation, and it was wildly familiar, while being utterly separate from any experience I’ve ever had. Maybe as a former sidecar to an alcoholic, I recognize it? Maybe its my dream of escape returning, that young mother’s delusional dream? The main character willfully and determinedly tries to drug herself into sleep for a year, in the sincere hopes that when the sleep is done, there will be clarity, blueberries at the end of the rainbow and such. The names of the pills were mostly foreign to me, but I sure do know that my alarm bells will ring if anyone ever mentions any of them to me. but the dream of somehow waking up? a true deep waking up? oh yes. I feel that dream, have lived that one.

maybe that’s what sleeping is all about, for me. the hope for the waking up well-rested, the clarity of mind and purpose. the appreciation of the coffee and the clutter with an uncluttered mind.

and then again, maybe sleeping is just about sleeping. resting. breaking the mind from its yoke.

I guess thats what i came here for, to talk miracles, and waking up, and sleeping. I’m not going to lie, I’m not sure what you’ll make of it. but i’m here for it, still a little bit groggy, because the wakeup was unclear. Definitely cluttered. Its a beginning, and there is alot more. Dare I mention the yoke of ‘woke’? HAAAAA. i dared, and it felt awful, and I’m sorry. But my grimace is heading towards light-hearted on that one, sort of. ugh. sorry.

what’re your daily miracles? How do you wake up in the morning? What is your sleep like? what are the waking dreams?