It’s Raining and I Want To Take a Nap

We’re having a slow thunderstorm here in Maryville, MO. The heavy clouds hang overhead, darkening the sky. From the clouds, an ominous rumble emanates. It’s almost seven-thirty, and morning appears to have fled. A streak of horizontal lightning jolts the neighborhood.

I sit in my writing place, on the loveseat in the living room, near the window, and I want to take a nap. I close my eyes to think about writing this piece and I fall asleep sitting up, just for a moment.

This is the opposite of who I want to be. I want to be awake, dynamic. I want to write beautiful prose. I want to get many things done —

Who am I kidding? I want to take a nap.

It’s the perfect day to crawl back into bed, ignoring coffee and work to do, and turn off the light. I feel like I could sleep for twelve hours and wake up happy, or at least less blah than this weather has made me.

But I have promises to keep (Thank you, Robert Frost) and coffee to drink (Thank you, Richard). I have to meet with my boss and hold office hours and attend a faculty meeting. I might have time to write on my WIP (Work in progress, in author-speak). I’ve already done some grading (I get up very early). Tonight will be soon enough to sleep.

The Wren of Amusing Email

Today has been relentlessly dreary, with the mist throughout the day finally resolving into gray. I mention this because I have had the afternoon to work, and instead I have been falling asleep sitting up. I suppose this is a sign that I need sleep, that I have been working too hard, or that it’s just too dreary of a day to stay awake. I need something to do besides laundry, which is putting me to sleep as well.

Surveying my more imaginative side, I’ve decided I need a visit from the Bluebird of Happiness, or at least the Robin of Mildly Positive Affect, with wild news or mild news for my life. In my wildest dreams, the Osprey of Capital rescues me from this drudgery with an ostentatiously generous Powerball win. Maybe the Seagull of Exquisite Dinners will bring a menu from Waldo Thai, and somehow I’ll have the time to go there. The Blue Jay of Raucous Laughter? I could use a good laugh right now.

I may have to settle for the Wren of Amusing Email, as the other birds seem not to have found my house. Let me go read my email …

But First, Rest

I’m on Spring Break, and my brain’s on vacation. What I should do today — writing. Writing something deep on this blog and editing my book. What I am doing — writing something fluffy on this blog and falling asleep sitting up. Quite a feat, yet I keep managing it.

My body’s dropping a subtle hint that I need rest. I posted an article the other day about the different kinds of rest, but I don’t recall it pointing out how to tell when one needs rest. I suppose falling asleep sitting up might be a sign.

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It’s Spring Break. If I don’t rest now, when will I?

It’s my vacation. If I don’t have fun now, when will I?

I have to write this book. If I don’t do it now, when will I?

It occurs to me that rest trumps writing and fun because I will not enjoy either if I’m tired. This excellent deduction makes me grouchy because I want to have fun (even though we can’t go anywhere for Break because Richard has to work). I want to make progress in my writing. However, my body wants a nap.

I think it’s time to take a nap and promise myself I will do something more lively when I get up. There’s an additional chapter I have to add to the book, and I have a bunch of JD Robb to read for fun. But first, rest.

Taking Care of Myself

I’m getting old.

Monday night I stayed up a couple hours late doing some prepping for my classes. I had to adapt my lecture slide shows to make them more pedagogically effective, and I had until Thursday to get the first few slide shows done. Being an overachiever, I instead completed all fifteen weeks’ worth on Monday. I did not take care of myself.

I got through Tuesday’s work completing the other class, falling asleep sitting up. Now I’m on Wednesday, the day before my classes start, and I’m totally wiped out despite a good night’s sleep on Tuesday night.

I feel like I did when I was younger and got only three hours of sleep a night, which was not uncommon given that I hung out with computer programmers. I used to walk around like this all the time, and I do not know how I got through college this way. Or life.

Today I’ll be taking care of myself. A nap on the couch, some leisurely writing, and a promise to myself that I will not be staying up past my bedtime again.

Being bipolar means saying “Well, I got through that” a lot. An awful lot.

Remember that I am relatively stable right now and have been for a few years. No giddy, voluble mania; no draining depression. I almost wonder sometimes if I never really had bipolar at all, I’ve been comfortable for so long. Life gives us an amnesia when it comes to strong emotions; otherwise no woman would have a second child. So I know that my bipolar isn’t a figment of my imagination, even if I forget how traumatic it’s been.

My bipolar sits below the surface, waiting for its chance. It likes to boil up when I haven’t had enough sleep; I guard against that with a regular sleep schedule and supplemental medication for bad nights. It bursts out of quiescence when I face a lot of stress, and it roars into my life during crisis. Not always; that’s the tricky part. It’s not even predictable in crisis.

So I find myself saying “Well, I got through that” a lot lately. As in, “Well, I got through my dad’s death” and “Well, I got through all that grading” and “Well, I got through finals week” and even “Well, I got through carrying that heavy Nespresso machine down a flight of stairs without dying”. I feel relief that I haven’t gone on a three-day rant or begun tripping over my words in racing thoughts.

Sometimes I’m so relieved I feel like crying, and then I worry that a depression threatens to emerge. I shrug and promise myself that I will get on top of any threatening moods. I know the drill: Get enough sleep, talk to my psychiatrist, journal. Well, I got through that rocky patch.

A Fuzzy Day

It’s not a warm fuzzy day, mind you. Just a fuzzy day. One where my brain isn’t quite clear. One where sitting on the couch (no, laying on the couch) doesn’t seem to be a bad thing to do.

I was going to work on editing my novel today, the second quarter of the book. But I don’t feel like it. I feel fuzzy.

I have to wake up before my appointment with my therapist or else I’m going to cancel that. Or sleep through it. I have already had tea (and a sip of coffee which left me tummyish).

Let’s see if I can wake up. Talk to you later!

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Doing Nothing

The last few days

I’m facing the last few days before my fall semester starts, and I don’t want to do anything. No writing, no advertising, no anything but binge-watch British medical documentaries.

I may just indulge this need to do nothing. I really haven’t taken breaks from writing for about seven years. Between writing and editing, I’ve been writing for seven years. Almost every day.

A few days won’t hurt. Maybe I’ll get some inspiration, or another book ready for queries.

Or, at least, some rest.

(Anyone putting bets on when I’ll quit my break?)

The summer winds down …

I’m privileged

Being a professor means that I get a wide-open summer (well, if you subtract internship time and setting up classes for fall.) Most people don’t get that, but it’s part of the reason I became a professor. It’s a privilege I will accept gladly.

I needed the break

After a school year of drastic COVID mitigations, life not normal, lack of a social life, talking to nobody, the summer was welcome. Unfortunately, with the Delta variant, we may go back to that soon. But at least I had this summer to recover.

I admit I’m been a bit of a hermit, writing/editing and staying cool. But it’s been a good, relaxing summer, and I’m grateful I had it at the right time.

Two weeks left

I don’t know how summer went by so fast — I’m now two weeks out from the beginning of semester meetings. I’m contemplating taking these last days napping and watching British ambulance shows on YouTube. I probably won’t do much of that, because there are projects I want to do. (Really? I can’t think of any.)

Whatever I do, I plan to make the most of these few days, and be ready for the fall semester.

Restless and Tired = I Need a Break

How can I be restless and tired at the same time?

This would be Spring Break week if we were allowed Spring Break this year. But yesterday was my Spring Break and I had to do two internship observations.

I need a rest. As faculty, I can’t take a vacation, and even sick days consist of doing all our actual work at home (but we don’t have to count it as a sick day unless we’re too sick to work). COVID and Zoom has changed the life of a college professor.

But there’s nothing that can replace a complete break from work Being able to focus on something that is not homework. I’m not going to say “going places” because we’re all still on COVID restrictions, but the moment I get my second shot and do my two-week immunity wait, I’m going on a writing retreat.

I wish I could sleep all day today. I need to keep an eye on this given that it could be a sign of a depressive episode. I think it’s just lack of break. But I’ll keep an eye on it.

Sleepbot Environmental Broadcast

I have once again discovered my favorite internet radio station — Sleepbot Environmental Broadcast. The station pumps out lowkey ambient 24/7, and I like to play it all night as background music to sleep by.

I first started listening to Sleepbot in the late 1990s when I had first moved to Maryville and I was racked with chronic insomnia. (I should note that I was much later diagnosed with bipolar II, which explains the periods of insomnia). I would lay on the floor with my laptop and listen to the vague waves of music. I don’t know if it ever made me feel truly sleepy back then, but I would half-sleep, drifting among the motifs.

But then there was the wolves. One night I was half asleep again, only to hear wolves howling. Not the pretty howls we think wolves make, but shrieking yelping group howls. I slammed awake, thinking I had dreamed them, but the wolf track was real. I’m not sure why anyone thought that was restful music, but okay.

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So, it’s years later, and I’ve discovered Sleepbot again using a wonderful iPhone app called Radio Garden (which, as you can see from the link, has an online presence as well). It’s now my nightly serenade and now I fall asleep to it.

Last night, I was vegging out listening to Sleepbot convinced I must have imagined those wolves howling.

I. DID. NOT. IMAGINE. THOSE. WOLVES.

There they were again with the most nightmarish howling by sheer coincidence.

Did I mention I love sleepbot?