not sleeping

And again tonight. The problem, as I've said before, is this going to bed notion...

I had come home from work determined to take Marcus' advice — exercise and sleep — when it comes to moody broodiness. I started with the exercise, despite feeling bored already. Discipline. Easy and gently breaking a sweat, moving, reminding limbs of limbs and muscles of muscles. And then it started to bubble up, and I cried: rocking back and forth, holding my own shaking shoulders, feeling so small in my cozy pad — like small puppet on a large stage.

“It’s OK,” I said to myself, “It’s OK, this too is part of the world, the work. You can feel and it’s OK.” Tears splashing on my bare feet.

Then I put on my pyjamas. I knit. And made a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I practiced guitar. I folded my laundry. I knit some more. I practiced some more. I called my friend. “We’re going out,” he said. “Call me when you’re on the move,” I replied. I folded laundry. I lay down. I answered the phone.

“How are you?”
“I’m sleepy.”
“Does this mean you’re not coming out?”
“Mmmm...”
“You have to!”

I put on pants. A bra. A sweater. I bundled up and headed out to see friends I had not seen in a long time. We drank beer. We laughed. Jules made me hot chocolate. We talked good talks and reconnected. I felt contained inside a social bubble, very different from the pounding solitude of my apartment.

Then I went home. So tired I couldn’t sleep. Again.

But it’s a trade-off, isn’t it? Ideally a person could be refreshed by sleep and friends and food and good times on a moderate schedule, ensuring that each base is hit at an even, efficient lope. But sometimes a person needs to trade sleep for friends, or friends for food, and trust that all bases will eventually be covered by this erratic, unpredictable runner of life.

And this morning, an email: “See? It was all ok. Nice to see you.”