Last Night

I was so tired but my body refused to slip into blissful sleep. The pain in my stomach ate and ate and ate at me and I knew that although nothing in particular plagued my mind -- I wasn't even actually thinking at all to think I was thinking -- anxiety was surely and truly setting in. Being so tired was actually a good thing because passing out, at least trying to, was fast becoming a welcomed fix. Except that I couldn't.

By then, my mind was up and running. Running, in fact, between thinking how damn exhausted I was, and why the bloody hell that didn't just knock me out cold. Somewhere in the middle I think I even thought a strong drink would do the trick. At what point things changed I don't know, but I was very unimpressed to find myself jolted from sleep to discover I was -- get this -- actually asleep dreaming I couldn't sleep.

Yup.

Things couldn't possibly get worse from this point, so I lay my head back on my pillow, and resumed slumber.

Until an hour later.

Why I woke up is beyond me. Nevermind, back to bed.

And an hour later... You guessed it.

I won't be dramatic, but it went on, hour after hour after hour. I don't know when it stopped, I'm glad I don't because that meant it did.

The next day, I woke up not so bright and fresh for my trial at Chaddy. Just perfect.

If only the physical me would be in sync with my better behaving mental me and not spaz out completely. Meh.