I just couldn’t face getting up in the dark today. It’s Saturday, and I just have more work to do. Bills to pay, and a daughter to drive an hour south because I won’t let her drive on icy roads. This of course is perceived as an intrusion on her independence, an unnecessary precaution at least, a statement on her incompetence at worst.
I took another 1/2 of a Klonopin to knock myself out for an hour or two more, just so I could take a mini vacation.
Around 2008, I stopped being able to stay asleep. Exercise helps, but doesn’t conquer the problem. Without this habit forming miracle of modern medicine, I’d wake in the morning not later than 3 am. Don’t argue with me. Stop preaching addiction. On 49 out of 50 days, I take 1 mg at bedtime. On the odd, cold Saturday or Sunday morning, when I’m likely to face the day alone, I stay unconscious for two hours longer with 1/2 a pill more.
The morning is the time that I dream, too, and without dreams, we fall apart. I can’t generate them in the daytime, in fact, the persistent nag of “what do you want?” meaning “out of life” or “in the next chapter” or “come on, you must want something” just irritates me. The first time I heard the nagging, it was from someone to whom I would have replied “You. I want you.” I had the sense not give him the satisfaction of hearing that, but the knowledge of my true answer twisted me into knots and blocked whatever else I might have known about myself. You know, when you can’t answer that question to someone’s satisfaction, they turn away from you. I could put on the garb of the monk and say “I have renounced all desires”. Where I live, that would be lauded also.
“Happy people focus on other people, not themselves” is another common mantra. And what if you are so good at it that you forget what you need, exhaust yourself, and handicap people by being too accommodating? No one chimes in on this, except the scolding you get in the codependency books. I’m not saying it was bad to identify this pattern..quite helpful to millions, I’m sure. I’m just saying, where does that leave you?
Everyone I’ve seen blogging away and writing in those old fashioned “books” (made of paper, you’d recognize them) seem to have answers. I express no answer. I recognize the struggle.
In my early morning reverie, I found Sir Paul McCartney again. He’s my old favorite, and now he really is old, but how amazingly he keeps finding more to share. I was in a car with him driving, with my kids and others, and then there was a speedboat of some kind, I was trying to drive it, and people kept recognizing him, and so there was distance between us. He was in the water, on docks, moving to other parts of the boat. I wanted some time with him, to ask questions, but then again, so does everyone on this planet. Well, in my drug induced state, I came close. Not quite, but close.