In which we learn my psyche is pretty basic

Last night did not go as planned after I posted. I intended to go straight to bed so I could get up at 6:45 for my run. I ended up staying up later than usual — around 11:30 — before hitting the sack and just could not fall asleep. It was somewhere between 2:30 and 3:00 people I finally dozed off. This morning, either my alarm didn’t go off or I slept through it — which never, EVER happens — because I didn’t rise on my own until an hour later. So, no run this morning = running when I get home tonight. Vomit. I hate working out in the evenings, but I cannot miss my run.

Also, little sleep last night = three cups of coffee today. So it goes.

My nesting impulse continues. I suddenly see dirt and clutter that previously spent nearly three decades invisible to me. After last night’s tidying extravaganza, I woke up, albeit late, with an urge to get something accomplished. Somehow that turned into me scrubbing the toilet at 8:00 this morning. I don’t know who I am any more either. My husband is actually going to scrub floors today, so whatever grime-averse parasite that has taken residence in my body seems to be leeching off him as well. And tonight — after my run and dinner — I plan to tackle this challenge.

I’m doing my best to stay positive and avoid the creeping sadness right now. My mom’s doing crappy emotionally right now. She’s still playing the waiting game with her surgeon, and to top it all off, someone stole her dog on Sunday. About a month ago, she adopted a friend’s 3-year-old Yorkie. He has been a sweet comfort who arrived before she realized she needed him, and two days ago he jumped out of the car in a parking lot, and someone scooped him up and took off before my mom could catch him. It’s totally fucked up. She placed ads in the local papers, and I’m helping by calling vets and shelters just in case, but he’s a valuable dog, so there’s no telling if anyone will do the right thing. I told her to write the ad thusly:

Woman awaiting brain surgery misses beloved companion dog. Male Yorkie, 3 years old, grey body and blond face, leather collar. Reward. No questions asked.

I don’t know if she took my advice, but shit — why not play for the sympathy?

I also learned that an ex-boyfriend’s teenage sister is pregnant, and I’m feeling pretty bummed about it. I haven’t seen her in two years, probably, but I was always very fond of her. I know the family — who is very religious — is probably not being terribly supportive, and I can’t imagine how scared and confused she must be. The baby will be born a couple of months before her high school graduation. My heart goes out to her. Hearing about the situation is making me feel incredibly sad. I think she’ll grow to be a good mom, but she’s still a kid herself. Let that be a strike against abstinence-only education.

So there you have it. I guess when I lay it out, it’s pretty obvious that my sudden need to clean is me exerting control over some aspect of my life, and my inability to sleep is tied to worry. My mind isn’t so complicated after all.


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