I am...dreaming? Am I awake/living, asleep/dreaming? I am running. Talking to my father (deceased) and mother (divorced and remarried). I am... asleep/dreaming. My sleeping mind remembers an alarm clock set for 10:30 a.m. It plays the radio; shuts off unattended by myself who is locked in dreaming sleep on the other side of the bed. Slowly, slowly I surface. Am I awake? I am in bed. I feel the pillows, the sheets, the bed. I cannot yet open my eyes. My mind moves from my active dreams reluctantly to my actual true life. Me. In bed. Daylight comes in around the edges of the shades. I hear my chimes which activate to sunlight. Sunlight means daylight. Another day. Trapped in sleep. My eyes are puffy from my nighttime intake of craisins and semi-sweet chocolate chips. Yesterday I climbed from sleep at 4:30 pm. I could not succumb to sleep until 4 a.m. Nighttime is dangerous. I am awake, but trying to calm myself into sleep. I read. I watch Netflix on my Kindle. I play on-line Scrabble, word games. And I eat the forbidden. I cannot eat anything out of a box or package. To do so is to subject myself to a day locked in sleep, in dreams that won't let go, in sleep that cannot be conquered, to awaken to a body stiff and to eyelids puffy and face looking like my 79 year old mother. I, after all, am 55.
On the days I sleep and awaken late, I sit. I read, but am tired of reading, I play, but am tired of playing. I am too tired to do. My creativity must have energy in order to capture itself in the breath of life. I sit. I tire. If it is a good day, I can cook myself a small meal. I can wet my hair and put it up, drive myself to the gym. There I exercise. Sixteen minutes each on the recumbent bike, the ellipticycle, the rowing machine, the arm cycle. I mingle without talking with other human beings. Young, old, male, female, fat, fit. I stretch. I drink. In the sauna, are young and old. I read my Kindle, hoping that it can take the heat.
On some days my exercise gives me energy. On others, it takes energy. I have lost 13-15 pounds. Right now I am stuck between 181 and 182. Back and forth for a month now.
So...no creativity. Dreaming. Sleeping. Exercising. It takes me hours to gather the energy to feed myself. I am fine if I limit myself to whole foods. If I succumb to chocolate, wheat, cheese or milk, I trap myself in another day of puffy sleeping/dreaming/not living. A repetitive cycle, self-fulfilling nothing.
I remember...working fulltime. Working with kids and their families. Taking care of my family. Eleven years past now. One child half way through college, the other out on her own and training to solo walk the Pacific Crest Trail, 1500 miles, 5 months, 26 miles/day from Mexico to Canada. You go, girl! You are my strong and wonderful offspring, capable of so much more than I.
My dreams are better than real life now. My friends and acquaintances silent or gone. So many only through work. No more work, no more friends. Some that hang on and will meet me, despite their busy work schedules for lunch. Others are too busy and say so. So quickly and easily you lose friends. Talking with my sister about my hot flashes. I am the big sister, she is the little. She says that in talking with her girlfriends, we are late bloomers to menopause. "Really?", I reply. "I have no girlfriends, so I didn't know." "I doubt that," says my sister. Who would my girlfriends be? Phone calls are hard. I no longer work. Where would these people come from? When you sleep and exist indoors, people do not come knocking at your door asking what's wrong? How can I help? I have my husband, who works. My children with their own lives. My mother who is battling dementia and poor health in North Carolina. Who are my "girlfriends"? I have acquaintances only. My "friends" on Facebook, thumbs up or absent.
This is my now. This is my life. Hopefully, tonight I eat the right things, and have the energy to live...or at least drive the van to the gym where people do not know that I am an Escapee to Life.
On the days I sleep and awaken late, I sit. I read, but am tired of reading, I play, but am tired of playing. I am too tired to do. My creativity must have energy in order to capture itself in the breath of life. I sit. I tire. If it is a good day, I can cook myself a small meal. I can wet my hair and put it up, drive myself to the gym. There I exercise. Sixteen minutes each on the recumbent bike, the ellipticycle, the rowing machine, the arm cycle. I mingle without talking with other human beings. Young, old, male, female, fat, fit. I stretch. I drink. In the sauna, are young and old. I read my Kindle, hoping that it can take the heat.
On some days my exercise gives me energy. On others, it takes energy. I have lost 13-15 pounds. Right now I am stuck between 181 and 182. Back and forth for a month now.
So...no creativity. Dreaming. Sleeping. Exercising. It takes me hours to gather the energy to feed myself. I am fine if I limit myself to whole foods. If I succumb to chocolate, wheat, cheese or milk, I trap myself in another day of puffy sleeping/dreaming/not living. A repetitive cycle, self-fulfilling nothing.
I remember...working fulltime. Working with kids and their families. Taking care of my family. Eleven years past now. One child half way through college, the other out on her own and training to solo walk the Pacific Crest Trail, 1500 miles, 5 months, 26 miles/day from Mexico to Canada. You go, girl! You are my strong and wonderful offspring, capable of so much more than I.
My dreams are better than real life now. My friends and acquaintances silent or gone. So many only through work. No more work, no more friends. Some that hang on and will meet me, despite their busy work schedules for lunch. Others are too busy and say so. So quickly and easily you lose friends. Talking with my sister about my hot flashes. I am the big sister, she is the little. She says that in talking with her girlfriends, we are late bloomers to menopause. "Really?", I reply. "I have no girlfriends, so I didn't know." "I doubt that," says my sister. Who would my girlfriends be? Phone calls are hard. I no longer work. Where would these people come from? When you sleep and exist indoors, people do not come knocking at your door asking what's wrong? How can I help? I have my husband, who works. My children with their own lives. My mother who is battling dementia and poor health in North Carolina. Who are my "girlfriends"? I have acquaintances only. My "friends" on Facebook, thumbs up or absent.
This is my now. This is my life. Hopefully, tonight I eat the right things, and have the energy to live...or at least drive the van to the gym where people do not know that I am an Escapee to Life.
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