|But not even they get today’s crazy.|
You know that post a bit ago about my zombie dreams? Yeah, they struck again. I counted off a total of 5.5 sleeping hours last night. Now, I’m quite awake but physically exhausted, sitting in front of my computer in the dark, wearing Matt’s bathrobe and wondering how in the world it has come to this.
I started a project yesterday. One I’m not quite ready to make public, but it’s fun, creative, and quirky. So I could be just far too excited about this to sleep. But I’m not.
I have thank-you cards to write. I’m only about halfway through the ones from my wedding, so the anxiety of getting those finished could have done it. But it didn’t.
I could blame it on what I watched yesterday, but a movie marathon of My Little Pony, Rango, and Rio would not cause me to jolt awake in the wee hours of the morning. (That’s partly why I watch animated films/cartoons: no residual emotional tensions for the brain to distort.) I could blame something I ate for dinner, but salmon and broccoli never made anyone crazy. The dirty dishes could be at fault. I could argue that I was hungry. Or thirsty. Or hot. Or cold. Or whatever physical state you can think of. But I wasn’t.
The cats think I’m crazy. I fed them before they asked, and now they’re all staring at me like they know I’m not where I belong. Hell, the oldest one gave up on me and went back to bed.
I’m contemplating coffee, but is 7am too early for the grinder? I don’t want to be a bad neighbour. So I’m sitting, drumming my fingers on the keyboard, debating it and thinking about Matt. He’s coming home tonight, I think, though he hasn’t confirmed anything yet. I’m thinking about the salmon avocado quesadilla recipe I am going to try out tonight for supper. I’m thinking that this project I began might be easier to do entirely in Photoshop, but I like the creative process of having a pencil in hand. And then there are those dirty dishes sneaking in again.
Dirty dishes, in a way, are a good metaphor for my state of being. “Come in please. The place is tidy, there are clean sheets on the guest bed, but don’t look in the kitchen sink – it’s a disaster” is sort of the same thing as “Hi, I’m Krista. I can think clearly, am a highly functioning PTSD sufferer, but don’t make me talk about the accident – it’ll be a disaster”. “I’m soaking the pans” could mean “I’m working through my emotions”. “I’ve prepped the dry rack” might stand for “I’m getting ready to face things head on”. “Damn but this needs some elbow grease” easily translates to… well, to “Damn but this needs some elbow grease”. Not a particularly sexy metaphor, but an apt one nonetheless.
And that, folks, is about as philosophical as I’m going to get with little sleep and no coffee to go on. Screw being a good neighbour. Now I want breakfast.