It’s true. If you take the sleeping pills for ‘longer than recommended by your medical professional’ they do stop working. Bullshit, says I. Don’t take anything to help you sleep, and you can’t sleep. Take something that helps you sleep too much, and you can’t sleep. But now it’s even more aggravating, because there was that tantalizing 2 weeks there where you could actually experience what it’s like to function as one of those normal sleeper types. Actually, once this current rage runs its course, I think I’ll actually be OK with this turn of events. I think all that extra rest was making me soft. Not as productive. If I’m working at a reasonable pace in a good state of mind with a clearly defined workback schedule that can be achieved in a perfectly reasonable amount of time…then I’m either on Facebook all day until said formerly reasonable deadline has devolved to the point of holy-mother-of god-I-am-so-fucked, or I will volunteer to take on seven other projects at the same time, therefore completely screwing myself. The exhaustion and panic make me more creative and effective. I always maintained in school that I wasn’t a procrastonator, just that I was waiting until the time that would evoke my most productive state of mind.
There are other pluses to this condition…i.e. more time to indulge in my curreny lezzy crush, Amanda Palmer, who is super georgeous and amazing.
This song has had the added benefit of, via Facebook status update and ensuing comment storm today, leading to my discovery of the wonderful interobang‽ Which I adore. Obviously. The best line in that comment thread was a random from my sister Mufin: “Ëvërythïng’s mörë mëtäl wïth ümläüts.” To which I replied: “• everything•s • more • polka • with • dots •”. Which I stand by, and still believe to be true.
And besides, this way I get to spend more time with my dear friend, my blog.
Fuck it anyway. Sleep is for the weak.