This time of year frustrates me.
I like to sleep. I want to sleep. It’s my escape. The only time I don’t overthink myself to death. The thinking is what exhausts me in the first place.
I’m a weighted, blanketed, under layer of bedding kind of girl. I can’t sleep just under a sheet or, gasp, uncovered completely. I find comfort in the protection heavy blankets provide me.
In between spring and summer and summer and fall I’m in misery for a few weeks. The temperature varies too much for the air conditioning or heat to run all night. So I’m in limbo.
I risk waking to close a window if I go to bed with one open and the temperature drops.
I’m not alone in the house. I have to think of the others. And it’s pretty miserable warming up in the morning when you need to be somewhere.
I’ve shed the comforter, the quilt, I had to finally get up and go to the couch when the sheet was still too hot.
I can’t anyway. I got to thinking of how I never watch much adult TV anymore. This is when I should.
I began watching “Fleabag” Saturday while the boys were supposed to be napping. I found the lead character a little too like myself. Didn’t want to start that.
I’ve seen previews of “I Love Dick” on Facebook. I searched and searched and found it on Amazon. Kathryn Hahn. Kevin Bacon.
4:20 a silhouette appears, luckily after the first sex scene. It’s Jackson.
“Is it 6 yet? Time to get up?”
I turn off the TV and we go back our beds.
I break down and open a window in my bedroom.
This show may resonate too much for me.
I’m lonely. I’m out of place and going out of my mind.
I don’t fit here. You want to hear that I’m happy. I’d like to be able to tell you life is a but a dream, sweetheart.
But I’d be lying. And I cannot lie uncovered, without weight. So I hide, cower, pretend. I tell people what they want to hear here. I’m fine. I’m happy. Yes, I know how blessed I am.
Would you like to know my thoughts on God? No. I can’t speak of such things here. Better to retreat to my bed. Cover up and stop thinking.