So, I woke up this morning around 3:00, feeling actually awake, and decided to read the final stave of Lost by Gregory Maguire before going back to sleep, in hopes that I would then actually sleep for the rest of the morning, and not wake up groggy and in need of a nap around 9. If it worked, it worked far too well. I slept soundly until almost eleven, having weird, vivid, lucid dreams the entire time, and having to throw myself - not appearing so much groggy as drugged - out of bed. In order to keep up appearances, (or justify them, or something) I decided to take my morning meds. No, wait. That's what an awake, attention-paying person would have done, and I was not an awake, attention-paying person. I was more of a recently-risen-from-a-coma person, and so I had the good sense to take (any guesses? eh? eh?) my night meds. My sleeping meds. Because, you know, I really did want to spend the entire day in bed. Because I really did want to return to those weird, vivid, lucid (did I mention freaky?) dreams. Or maybe because I wanted to prove that they really don't have any effect on my (nonetheless bizarre) sleeping habits. Or no! I've got it! Because now is the time to be wasting pills! Now, when I don't have insurance, and my *tongue* is already threatening to fall out of my mouth... at which point the doctors I can't see will all wrinkle their respective brows and say, "Well, I'm not sure, but I do think that - even when it ceases to be *in the mouth* the condition is still called 'geographic tongue.'" *sob*
And the world had such high hopes for me. ...Or at least, I like to think it did.
~me