I am very tired.
I am very fucking tired.
I am so tired that when I try to go to sleep, I lie awake thinking about how tired I am, rather than sleeping.
So I’ve started taking siestas. Small naps, somewhere between the hours of 1pm and 4pm. Between that and the 6ish hours I manage at night, I’m holding it together. It’s a workable plan, for the most part, since I can’t do fuckall about 80% of the stresses on my life (I am informed that some plans I have for dealing with some of the stress are technically considered treason, and the other plans are impractical, because we can’t get all the white nationalists to stand still in a small enough group, all at once. Pity, that.)
Anyway. I’ve started taking siestas. It’s working. I mention this to a person I know casually from the neighborhood, as we’re talking casually as one does about how things are going. And she looks at me, very seriously, crone-to-matron, and says “you shouldn’t do that. Just stay awake until you’re tired enough to go to sleep, and if that doesn’t work, take sleeping pills.”
You would’ve been proud of me, o Readers! Keeping in mind that she is an older woman, and we are not at the level of friendship where I could tell her she was being a fucking idiot, I just smiled and thanked her for the advice. And that should have been the end of it.
But no! She then proceeded to tell me that sleeping during the day was wrong, and that was why I was stressed in the first place (apparently, she doesn’t watch the news), and then delved into a number of rather personal assumptions about my life I wouldn’t put up with even from my grandma (sorry, grandma).
At this point, even her dog (our main point of social connection) is looking at me with sympathy, like he knows my pain (he probably does) and is willing to piddle on her shoe if it will allow me to make my escape.
O Readers, I escaped. Mainly by telling her that I had to go take a siesta.
But you know what the worst thing is? After all that, she didn’t even offer me any sleeping pills.