I cannot sleep.
Apparently I have lavished myself with too much coffee and that’s a terrible thing for a gal with anxiety. I should know better by now…I guess I forgot.
I am not a funny individual. If I was I would tell you a joke right about now but I’m fresh out of funny.
My husband is hilarious. If you ever find yourself laughing at my jokes it’s because I stole them from him. I hate that he’s so damn funny and I’m not. He’s a military man, as salty as they come and his humor isn’t for everyone, but I’ve become quite fond of it all the same.
If I could stop my mind from counting the letters in this post maybe I’d fall asleep but alas the counting just goes on and on and on….you get it. Counting sheep to fall asleep is just torment isn’t it? You can’t see them, but you picture them as the sheep from that mattress commercial. My problem is that I keep pausing, wondering if my sheep are going to end up abnormally shaped after I sheer them. Yeah that’s me.
I’ve learned to shift my focus to the lighter side of my ‘issssssues’ for the sake of my sanity.
I haven’t had this in quite a while, and I’m sure it’s because I keep reading my last post. Seeing most of my life in such a way kind of threw me, like against a wall. I cope by compartmentalizing which is fine, but you can’t do that without it coming back in some way, at some point when you’re totally unprepared.
My husband is out in our kitchen, probably hoping I don’t write a post about him while he’s sleeping. I think I’ll go bother him. Maybe he will have a cup of coffee with me.