I wake up regularly at 6 now. No matter what, I'll be open-eyed, staring at the radio, or the ceiling, or just off in space, at 6. It seems a barometer of how my head will go right there: if I try to go back to sleep & get annoyed that I can't; if I just immediately get up and start the day... those half-awake thoughts can set up my attitude for the whole day unless I intervene in my own damn crazy head, smack the ass of my inner child and tell it to shut up.
And ever since the 3 weeks ago that I made this blog a recording of kicking oxy and fentanyl, it's been a second nature to come right here as soon as coffee is in hand. This is getting to be a real habit.
So anyway, while I'm staring from bed, after dealing with the Peckinpah movie of womanhood, I realize it's really fuckin cold again. I mean, cold. There's a certain blue to a truly cold sky and it's like that, out my bedroom window. The wind was howling last night- wild whssshhhs, Robert Burns gales. The midwinter thaw is dead.
I wanted more sleep- my body is wanting it, but now my mind is fully engaged and all the things I need to do start lining up in size order - so up I get.
Jesus I have so much to do, and no energy or even interest. I had a good supply of nervous energy rushes going with all the withdrawals, but that's gone now and I'm beat. And I gots pain, fellow babies. Lots of it. Pains I forgot I'd had 'cause the opiates masked things for so long. Yes, of course, it's all mind over matter. It's always mind over matter. But my mind is saying, "Fuck you, I'm tired." at the same time it's saying, "Holy shit! Look at all you have to pack yet!" and the whole time a picture in my head of being under a mountain of blankets wants to seduce me back to bed.
But it's almost 3 hours later, I haven't even finished this post, and I just can't get my titties in a twist. If I get things done today, hooray. If not, oh well. I've been riding my own ass to kick drugs, alone, with no real med help, for over 3 solid weeks. If that's not a good enough "old college try", fuck it all. Really, fuck the world. People (the kind who know these things) have told me that what I just went and did is not only colossally dangerous but almost superhuman. It's not done. Well, it just was. But my ass is dragging from it.
And fergodsssakes of course yes I want outta this place if only for the sake of my poor suffering nose that just takes beatings from allergies to this shitstack building anytime a window's closed. And there went the 3-hour mark of being awake, and all I've accomplished is this post so far, having 1 cup of coffee, taking the nsaid & benadryl & the 1st of my 3 cursed oxy have-to takes.
I can't even work up being pissed at myself enough to make me move.
It's cold, I have my big chair and furry blanket around me.
But there's no comfort in my bones, so I'll start packing, simply because the pain won't let me be still any longer.
I'll be back later.
The Door Is Ajar.
6 days ago