My head, or body, (but most definitely not I,) got stuck in a weird pattern, letting me sleep between four and five hours every night with a long break in the middle, for the past three weeks. Exercise would have been good, but sun/heat and that recurring hip problem left me wondering what the heck I could have done. (And just how on earth do my left and right feet manage to get inflamed when I'm taking things this easy?) Then we had a couple of cooler, overcast days and Wednesday I crashed and slept, slept and slept, and Wednesday night I slept right through until the alarm went off.
Oh, joy.
Looking back, it could have been a curious physiology experiment, akin to poets and painters working on acid. Except not getting enough sleep just doesn't sound glamorous, so I shall put off becoming the first Tripping Weaver. Unless I mean my usual manner of tripping.
Depression and insomnia go hand in hand and I knew this exhaustion felt different from depressive lethargy; it was more physical, and I was too tired for guilt.
But I've been compensated because I read some; mostly Philip Roth, (hate all the sex in his fiction but love his evocation of times and places; find his non-fiction a bit heavy but I'm staying with them,) but also a short Elena Farrante, an Oliver Sacks, and now Diana Athill; not bad for a sluggish, slothy reader. And while washing dishes or cooking, I've been listening to biographical clips on this website. (Desmond Morris was most entertaining.)
A couple of days ago multiple friends posted this clip from Doctor Who's Vincent episode, which I hadn't seen; it's a nice, romantic view of a man I'm convinced was diabolically rude, drunk, and self-absorbed, and yet I missed him. After my random reading spree, I shall return to reading about him.
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I'll mention one book for those who may be interested. While his aging father was dying of a brain tumor, Philip Roth wrote what was happening, (not exactly a journal, though I don't know if he intended to publish as he wrote,) which became "Patrimony: A True Story". It's not as complicated as his other non-fiction, and I so wished I had read it before my last visit with Dad two years ago.
Right. Normal operation resumes now.
3 comments:
As for kombucha = Vitamin B = energy, I'm not sure. It's not always pleasant drinking my vinegary tingly liquid, sometimes so spiky I feel an inch shorter, and have contemplated drinking earlier and sweeter, too. This has become more like keeping a pet alive rather than a healthy effort.
Good for you! Sleep deprivation is the worst thing I have ever known. My brain just doesn't function if I don't get enough sleep, and the longer I go without a good sleep, the harder it is to get one.
You said it. I was so useless I felt like a right old rag! It just sucks all the energy out of us, doesn't it? Yikes.
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