That’s what time it is.
I actually haven’t slept in 44 hours save for three hours last night which barely count because I spent them nightmaring that I was on a flight with this random guy I knew in boarding school and he set himself on fire. Normall.
Usually I giggle and say “I’m like Jack Bauer” when I don’t sleep for more than 24 hours straight, but sometime after hour 30 I feel less cute, more cracked. Thankfully my serious dream googling discovered that fire isn’t a bad thing as long as you’re not the one burning. What it can mean is that you’re being consumed by your own ambition (likely), passionate sexual feelings (rearr) and I’ve already lost interest in googling this further. It’s a fun side effect from lack of sleep, my normally rapt attention span starts waning. That and my appetite.
I ordered mozzarella sticks from Moonstruck diner tonight (last night?) because it was the only thing open at 11:15pm when I got hungry for dinner; then I ate half of them and watched the oozing cheese harden on the remainder as I chugged Activate water (stocked in my fridge thanks to a generous publicist). The Defend flavor felt right. So did a good scrub with my new La Prairie Cellular Mineral Face Exfoliator which is just the perfect amount of rough–like a fancier, better-smelling apricot scrub (a middle school favorite that I still use but only on my arm bumps now)
I don’t really write about my insomnia because it requires background on my six year addiction to sleeping pills which I can’t even think about now because mmmm sleeping pillllls.
Traveling helped me find my way out of that one but like any real addict I’ve only substituted one fixation for another because while I’d love an Ambien, what I really neeeed is to book another trip. There are flights to New Mexico for $281 and I’m ready to connect with my Native American past life. I also have a friend in South America emailing me about Galapagos Island deals and ayahuasca–both imperative exploration expeditions. And if I don’t get to Yellowstone this summer I will just diee.
In the meantime, I keep saving up and trying to figure it all out via fairly #dark voice memos (it’s my new thing, recording notes to myself…I highly recommend it, even more than the face scrub). Sleeplessness makes you drunk and there are these moments of clarity in the haze where everything makes sense. Musings include the comparison of long-term travel to attending your own funeral; you get to see who misses you when you’re not around and hear people say really nice things about you just like what happens when you die. I love that sh*t, feel free to leave it in the comments, too.