It hardly seems worthwhile to mention: I didn't sleep well. This seems to be the pattern and I have finally given up. Not even my trusty sleeping pills will do the trick. It takes forever to get to sleep, but once I finally do, then it is nearly impossible to wake up. So. I just count on being up until at least 2 or 3am, and then lucky if I'm awake again before 11am the next day. I hate this schedule, but it's not worth stressing about.
So many noisy thoughts storming through my brain in the wee hours of the morning. Sex, death, race, religion, politics, emotion. All the topics not discussed in polite company. But how I loathe polite company! I hope this is never a place for polite company.
I don't love my life yet. It is still so small and boring and confined. I want a life I can be proud of. But so much is outside of my control. I can't make a company hire me for my ideal job. I can't force a publisher to choose my manuscript. I can't input information into a GPS and track down the man of my dreams. There is no guarantee that a baby will ever grow in my belly long enough to be delivered safely into my arms. I can't ever know the full scope of the effect of my actions on others.
But oh, I wish I could.
My body is in high-gear baby-making mode, primed and ready with noplace to go. It is single-minded and insatiable. It is rattling my poor fragile psyche to bits. Shush, I say. It's all right. Someday; someday we'll have our turn.
My body doesn't believe me. And I can't really blame it. It's heard that line far too many times before.