like a clock with no hands
My internal clock is all fucked up today. I drifted in and out of sleep in my recliner last night while reading my book, and didn’t pass out all the way until about 4am.
I woke up to a (wonderful) phone call this morning around nine (I think), and then fell back asleep until about quarter-to-two int he afternoon, about eight hours past my usual wake-up-time.
I still can’t hold very much food down. Today my big conquest was managing to melt a couple pieces of cheese on a bagel and mow on that for about sixty minutes.
I used to always wonder how people who lived toward the polar extremes managed to not go absolutely insane having six months of darkness, or six months of sunshine, or whatever. I remember thinking that you’d stop believing that every day was a “new” day, that if you had a shitty night on a friday, since the sun never set or rose again, you’d feel just as shitty on Saturday morning, lik enothing had changed.
My mind was never made up about it, I guess, or at least,
as you might say,
things change.
Now, I look north to the Yukon with an envious eye. When days and nights blend together, anxiety doesn’t get the chance to set in over and over again. I felt calmer than usual today, opening the blinds after being awake already for a few hours, and already seeing that the sun was mostly set in the sky.
I don’t know, though. Don’t take my advice. My internal time is all fucked up and I feel eerily like a clock with no hands.