It’s about two am.

I just read an article online that says that “if you can’t fall asleep in 15-20 minutes, get out of bed and stay up until you feel sleepy. Not just tired, but sleepy.”

So, I got out of bed around 12:45 thinking maybe it was the morning, because the neighbour upstairs is always getting up so early and making noise. But no. It was just past midnight. It’s Saturday night, so I can’t hold it against the neighbor for making a little bit of noise. Besides, this has been happening for the past week.

Is it the time change? Is it the rolling hot flashes? Is it the Arimidex? I don’t know. It’s probably the lack of cookies.

I went on twitter and tweeted quite randomly. Realized a local artist/blogger is this fellow I had met years ago while working at Old Navy. I remember working at Old Navy when it first launched in our town, and this fellow was there. . . then one day he says to us (teenagers and uni kids) “I’m actually undercover here, researching for a cartoon show about animals who work in a mall” . . . or something like that. And then he said, “I’ve got what I need, so I’m quitting.”

Of course you don’t believe a crazy story like that – not when this is your second job ever and this guy seemed younger than you, and he was quitting without one spec of remorse. (Now that was a new concept for me – the ever-trying eager beaver.) So, no one believed him till he whipped out his driver’s license and proved that he was many, many years older than us. *Back then, I thought any age differences meant older. Now that stuff is all just stupid. But at the time, it was mind blowing how much “older” he was. So apparently, when you cannot sleep and it is 1:45 in the morning, you make weird connections based on people’s twitter profiles, and have strange flashbacks to days long gone.

I didn’t like that job. The floor was made from concrete and my shins shot through with pain at the end of every shift. Plus, I was mostly invisible there – and after feeling invisible through high school (okay, I felt more translucent than invisible, and far more opaque toward the end), you get to have enough of it.

Writing is a really good help for not being able to sleep. Just talking through the words and letting these thoughts unravel. I’ll put this on my blog, and possibly regret it later. But the mystery of my sleeplessness must be resolved. I would prefer to resume normal sleeping patterns.

Spring forward. Hot flash. Work anxiety. New drugs. Old drugs. Zoladex. Radiators. Upstairs Neighbors (he’s also new). What is it? I just do not know. I would like to eat a bunch of cookies, except there aren’t any. So, I’ll settle for this bag of frozen pecans.

Okay. Bedtime part two.

Goodnight.

🙂