Thus ends what used to be the sixth month

Well, it must follow as the knight the questing beast that Wednesday follows Tuesday, and since yesterday was Tuesday, today is Wednesday.  It’s the last day of August in 2022.  I’m taking an early train today, even for me—I think it’s literally the first train of the day.  I was awake anyway, and have been awake for some time, and finally just figured, oh well, might as well just get up and go.

It’s not that I’m not tired.  I am tired.  I’m deathly tired.  But I can’t rest.  I’m able to get to sleep at night with only minimal difficulty, usually no later than eleven, and sometimes earlier.  But even if I take Benadryl or similar, I wake up starting by around one or two at the latest, and just keep doing it, until by a bit after three I’m not able even to doze anymore.

I watched a few videos with music last night, thinking to soothe myself, and I thought that, this morning, I’m going to try to play some guitar.  But now, on my way in to the office a bit earlier than usual, I don’t think that’s going to happen.  The thought of picking it up and playing just feels…I don’t know exactly how to describe it.  I feel as if just the prospect of doing it is anathema somehow.  Ditto for writing any fiction.  Even just the thought of doing it fills me with something that’s not exactly ennui, but more like anticipatory dysphoria.  It’s not quite like the prospect of considering going to get blood drawn at a doctor’s office for tests that aren’t really necessary, but it’s something in that same type of feeling, just not to that degree.

I don’t quite understand it.

Here’s a weird fact.  The thing I most look forward to now is the fact that, on Wednesdays, because I have to do the payroll, I take slightly supratherapeutic doses of Tylenol/Aspirin/Aleve so that I won’t be in too much pain.  I can’t do that every day—I’d get sick to my stomach, for one thing, but there are other potential toxicities involved with which I flirt already—but I let myself do it on Wednesdays.  So I look forward to it being at least a less painful day.  That’s the highlight of the week.  I don’t mean just that it’s the highlight of the workweek, I mean it’s the highlight of the week overall.  It’s the very best part of my week.

Speaking of pain, my sister had a bit of a fall yesterday morning, just after I’d finished writing my blog post—well, it probably didn’t happen after, but she called me after; her daughter was on her way to take her to the hospital, but she wanted to check with me if there was anything else she should do in the meantime, since I am a trained medical doctor.  She’s fine, thank goodness—some stitches and possibly a bit sore, but no bones broken, and no concussion either, which I was a bit nervous about.  I’m glad she lives close to my niece, and that they get along well, though as I told her, if she ever just had to call an ambulance, I’d be happy to pay for that myself.  It’s not like I’m made of money or anything—quite the contrary—but I don’t have anything else of value to spend it on, so why not?

If I fell*, I would pretty much be stuck using 911.  I guess that’s why it’s there, so people can get help in emergencies.  Anyway, I probably wouldn’t even call anyone at all.  Why would I want to call for help** yet again?  What would be the point?  Though if I panicked, and the deeper, older biology overrode the frontal lobes, I might feel compelled to seek assistance.  It’s hard to resist.  Hopefully, if such a thing happens, I’ll just be rendered unconscious, and it won’t be an issue for anyone unless and until I start to smell.

Speaking of such irritation of neighbors, there are new people moving into the house in which I live, either today or tomorrow.  I don’t know them, though I think I met the lady when she came by to check things out over the weekend—one of the interruptions I mentioned yesterday or Monday.  She basically just speaks Spanish, so I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to strike up conversations, thankfully, but I do speak reasonably good Spanish—it used to be quite good—so we’ll be able to communicate the basics.

In some ways, weirdly, it’s easier to interact with people when there is some relative barrier to communication, because then I don’t have to worry about awkwardness, or seeming too odd, or not quite knowing what to say.  After all, the whole interaction is awkward and incomplete anyway, so any personal awkwardness from me is just part of the overall picture.  It’s curiously relaxing, though of course, it takes some work to recall my Spanish, and understanding other people is harder than speaking it.

Anyway, I hope there won’t be too many disruptions, but I’m probably not going to feel comfortable using the kitchen and stuff most of the time now; I’m still going to need to do my laundry on Sundays, though.  Hopefully there won’t be any issues with that.  It’s the only day of the week I can really do it, at least on any regular schedule, so I really hope there won’t be any issue with mess in there or other people’s clothes left just sitting around in the washer or dryer.

I’m so tired of having to deal with things.  There’s no percentage in it; there’s nothing to be gained.  It’s just annoying.  I wish I had an off switch, or at least a “sleep mode” that worked reliably, or even a restart button that could clear whatever background apps are running and open things afresh.  I guess that’s one of the things sleep sort of analogously is “supposed” to do for us, come to think of it.

I’m not speaking from recent personal experience, though.


*Not the Beatles song.

**Again, not the Beatles song.

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