Insomnia again

Last night, there was simply no sleep to be had. I couldn't figure it out. I could have sworn I took my medication, and I was so, so tired. I have been feeling like an old dishrag for the last three days and had an epic case of the drag-ass. It makes sense--I've been sitting here listening to my ass spread for months (I think an old-school term I've heard for this is "woolgathering", but I'm allergic to wool, no wonder I feel a little off)--and suddenly BOOM! I'm temping twenty hours a week, I've got freelance work, and we just finally re-submitted to insurance for surgery, which I'm supposed to hear about within two weeks. The least stressful thing I've done in the past few days is stop writing in the food journal for a while. And it was Mr. Salted's birthday in there as well. So my being a bit wound up definitely makes sense.

Unfortunately, sleeplessness is just a fact of life for me, and it often strikes at random. I tried listening to my "sleepy" iPod playlist. Didn't work. Gave up; got online. Put some pictures on my Flickr site, looked at friends' pictures. Edited more pictures. Facebooked a little. Of course, my computer was running one automatic virus and spyware scan one after the other so everything was slow or wouldn't work or kicked me out all night long, but I kept at it for whatever reason--probably because I didn't want to start reading a new book when my brain was at such a low wattage.

I crawled into bed about an hour before the Mr. had to get up and dozed, with him and without. Before he left for work, I woke up more completely and turned on the bedroom light. There on my nightstand sat my lonely Seroquel, lined up sadly like a trio of forgotten soldiers. No wonder, I thought. Shit. I was supposed to go to work today, but fortunately, with the current situation, things are flexible--as long as the hours add up to twenty for the week.

I considered, and certainly could have, gone in on autopilot as I've frequently done--I've almost fallen asleep at the wheel hurtling down the freeway many more times than I feel comfortable 'fessing up to here. But for once, I didn't have to, and I made myself stay home. It seems like a small thing--maybe even a cop-out thing--but for me, it's a self-care thing--and I'll certainly be a more productive (and less irritable) employee tomorrow when I've had some sleep, so everybody wins. The odd thing is--and it truly is a revelation: I am not beating myself up about this. The usual internal continuous-loop tape that says things like, "dammit, what is your pansy-ass problem for needing sleeping pills this bad?" is magically, blessedly silent.

This unfamiliar silence, this calm, feels like nothing short of a gift. I am what I am, that's all I am, I do the best I can, and--at least today--that's just exactly enough for me.