maybe I'm feeling better. It could also be the sort-of euphoric sense one gets when one has had very little sleep.
Normally, I just keep myself until I'm too tired to dream, but fall asleep the instant I get into bed. Not last night. Last night, my mind kept racing... and even worse, every damn little noise in the apartment kept me awake. For instance, the ticking of a clock. What fucking clock??? I kept wondering, since any of the manual clocks in the house are all in other rooms... there are two clocks in the Sun's room... one is over his head and sort of makes a noise, the other is his alarm clock.
There is a tiny travel clock in the bathroom.
There's a wall clock in the kitchen.
The two clocks in my room are digital. And mind you... I had the door closed because Cat has decided that he MUST sleep in the bed with me and leaves unbelievable amounts of hair behind when he does. And I'm severely allergic to Cat, so I've been taking to closing my door. And yet... I could still hear a damn clock ticking. Loudly. It reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe's story "The Telltale Heart". Which is pretty friggin ironic for various reasons...
And then Cat was thoroughly pissed off that I wouldn't let him in the room, and yewled and scratched at the door for quite some time. When I finally fell asleep it was probably 5A... I was afraid to look. And I have to get up at 6:30. Except I woke up about 6:50, when the Sun's clock went off.
Poor baby was still half asleep as I pushed him out the door to go to school with Shoefly and the Moon. And I came back and laid down again for what turned out to be two hours... missing my "hangout time" with FatLady and OneHalf... which sucked.
But despite that... I'm starting to feel better--a little less heavy. And I completely admit that part of it has to do with Hope creeping round the corners of my heart... but the other part is a determination to change my life.
Another realization I had was that this summer marked 10 years in my apartment. I think that this is probably the longest time I have ever lived in one place... in one town/one apartment in my entire life. And I think it made me slightly stir crazy. I can't afford to move... I don't want to move. I hate moving, actually, having done it far too frequently. But there is something about moving into a new home, painting, reorienting things that's refreshing. So my "cleanup" and reorganization of my apartment needs to continue... and I might even have to paint. As much as I love the paint job in my apartment, it may be time to change.
If I paint anything it'll be the living room because that was the first room in the house that was painted when I moved in. But ooh lord what a job that will be... so I might start first with changing the window treatments. And of course this requires money, which of course I have none of... but this is the first that I've even considered a change this big.
The other thing is I made an appointment to go in to the sailmaking place next Wednesday so they can start to show me the ropes. And I kind of look forward to it.
And I'm feeling like I might be able to do something creative again... especially once I'm organized.
So maybe... maybe I'm feeling better. Cautiously optimistic.