Sleepless nights are the best. There’s still officially one hour and some odd minutes of daylight more than darkness each day, but nights seem so much longer. It doesn’t matter what time of year it is.
I’ve been chatting with a Blowhio friend on FB messenger, and I find myself apologizing frequently thanks to my excessive whining. I really just need to disconnect. I shouldn’t be allowed to communicate with real live humans while in my current state.
I don’t think I’ve felt this rotten since last year. Not even during the springtime appendicidal renal abscess bodily fustercluck. I’m not going to try to justify, rationalize, or even hypothesize why. I don’t care. I just want to frickin’ sleep. Vamoose with the sleep caboose!
My dear manch is not a happy boy. I must look like a hideous beast when I feel as though I’m about to experience the true death. You know that “well, you don’t look sick..” that’s the most strangely offensive compliment a person can give? That’s usually me. I’m sick, and I look passable while doing it. Or being it. Whatever.
Tentative plan: go in for dialysis tomorrow/today as scheduled, evaluate death status following. Hope for slightly less death. Show up at my PCM’s door at the appointed time on Monday.
Contingency plan: fuck all that and allow husband-type to drop me off at emergent care on his way into work like he has been trying to do since Monday.
Backup plan: no, and nope. Take a handful of benadryl and see how long I can sleep.
Actual plan: listen to Muse and Radiohead until my brain blows up.