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Title: Waking Up Is Hard To Do.
The radio in our living room turns on sometimes. It has turned on repeatedly to this particular song, so I am downloading it. Most of the time it turns on to talk stations, and those I ignore, naturally. I sit here writing in my journal before I listen to the song. I am afraid, for I think I asked for this. I'm okay with the song meaning nothing. I think I could handle that better. What if I think it means something? I hope it is good, the message and the song, but maybe bad is what I need. I'll have a listen and report back.
Honesty hurts. I don't think I want to listen to it anymore.
Anyways...
I don't know how everyone else is with mornings, but I think they ought to be drawn and quartered. They are fine for other people, but they don't fit me. When I am subjected to a morning, I am cranky like when people talk during a movie. The cranky gets under my skin, making my body stiffen in rebuttal and creatively evil thoughts of torture burst in my brain.
Needless to say, I am not in my right mind at the breaking of dawn. I have murdered many an alarm clock for being offensive too early in the morning. I prefer to throw them, but I am not above beating them into silence. People are the best alarm clocks. smile
I have tried the soothing technique of setting the wake-up feature to music/radio, but that doesn't work because I sleep through it. It is a little too relaxing, like earthquakes. They're a real snore.
My mother talking to me wakes me up. I think she is under the impression that I am awake from when she speaks the first syllable. Ha. Actually, it takes time, a few minutes of jabbering, for me to realize she is talking and I am not dreaming. Meanwhile, she thinks that I am understanding all of what she said. Typically, this is not a problem when I am awake, but when I have been in a deep sleep through two minutes of the conversation, I have questions. "Wait. What key?"
"The key that opens the downstairs."
"But that is the same key."
"No it isn't," she says sternly. "Now after you get it out of the shed-"
"Get what?"
"The box!"
"Wha- Sorry, I'm asleep. I don't understand what I'm supposed to do."
My mother then makes noises of frustrated disapproval and leaves complaining how she is going to be late. I lay there confused as all hell, awake in the early morning, and feeling bad that I was not mentally quick enough. This is a situation that I have learned I can't win. I just go back to sleep cranky.
I woke up to a senario like that this morning. I need 7 to 8 hours of near uninterupted sleep. When I don't get that, I tend to over sleep, because I am tired from minute one. Not that it needs to be said, but I don't sleep well.
It is easy for me to get sleep when I fall back into sleep so easily. It's a gift. But once I am asleep and adjusted to that reality, I am reluctant to accept the waking one. Often one isn't really better than the other. Both have their rules that complicate matters. I don't die as often in the awake-world, but that is really the only difference of note.
I don't like the change from one to the other, but I don't like the in-between either. I have barely left with dream realm behind, my heart still pounding from the drama of it. My mind is aware of the noises of the room and my body can fell the sheets of the bed. I go to move, to roll over onto my side from comfort, but my body won't move. I can feel things, but my body feels deadly heavy. While I slept, my body was hollowed out and filled with concrete. Crying adds to the feeling of discomfort, because I can't feel my face react to the tear production. I'd scream out for help and freedom, but I can't make the noise. Perhaps the aching mass in my throat has something to do with it. Perhaps it is merely one of the other frozen parts of my body. Either way, I am confined within myself and I know it.
Eventually as if by magic, I can move. By that time, it is not a blessing because my entire body has been tensely stiff for so long that it hurts to shift a muscle. My cheeks are wet from all the tears. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, my arm vehemently protesting. I begin to piss off my joints checking their mobility. When the end of the ritual arrives and I am sitting up mostly thankful to be alive, I am exhausted, but I see the possiblility of sleep, even just a nap, as a terrifying b***h-slap in the face.
With luck, perhaps I won't have to wake-up tomorrow.
I shake a little inside and begin my day.
OrneryAiUnicorn · Mon May 22, 2006 @ 09:44pm · 0 Comments |
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