I don’t think I ever got to sleep last night. All night, I felt like I could not breathe; could not catch my breath. Obviously, I got enough oxygen to keep me alive, but I felt like every breath was an effort. I was up and down all night, hoping just one more change of position might leave me able to sleep. Finally, though, around 4:30, I got up. Staying in bed was pointless. All I accomplished was getting sore muscles and joints.
I made a cup of coffee, despite feeling monstrously tired. It chilled, untouched, while I sat motionless at my desk. Around 5, I sat in a recliner, hoping to be able to drift off. I did not get to sleep, but after sitting for at least an hour or so, I managed to slip into semi-consciousness for a short while. Before 7:30, after my IC was up for the day, I returned to bed for another attempt at sleep. I drifted off, again. It’s now 9:55 and I assume I’m up for the day. During my “sleep,” I kept fighting with stories about my sleepless experience. For some reason, in my semi-sleep, I called last night’s episode of insomnia “Come from Away.” I know about (but have not seen) that film. I have no idea why its title applies to my insomnia, though. I had another film title for another segment of last night’s experience, but I do not recall what film.
If I had taken painkillers, I might be able to explain the insanity. But I’ve taken nothing of the sort.
The recent change in the weather sparked a renewed interest in cooking, though I have not responded to that interest just yet. But I have idea of things I’d like to make. Several versions of lentil soups; chili; sambar; Berliner kartoffelsuppe; leg of lamb; a thousand other things. I wonder why weather has such an impact on my appetite? I wonder why my sleep habits, or lack thereof, impinge on my good moods?
My creative juices do not seem to be flowing this morning. In their place. viscous mud and cooling volcanic magma appear to be drooling from my brain. That’s an unpleasant thought. But there you go.