I woke up this morning acutely aware of just how bad too much salt really is for me. Holy bloated frogs! I feel like I aged ten years since I jumped into bed at 8 pm last night- and yes, I went to bed at 8 last night. I was the kind of tired yesterday that is easy to confuse with depression, and I wasn’t sure what was happening, so I figured it would be best just to go to bed and see if some sleep helped the matter at all.
And I think I was on the right track, except…all the salt from the restaurant food, combined with the bizarre nightmare I had all night long sort of worked against me. This nightmare…I woke up at least two times, actually got out of bed and wandered around the house, went back to bed, and both times went right back into the same damn dream. It was a version of a recurring nightmare I’ve had since about five seconds after I gave birth to my first child over 20 years ago. The one where your kid goes missing and you can’t find her? Yeah, except this one was much more creative, involved both of my children, and my ex-stepdad (a true psychopath) who somehow morphed into Donald Trump. He had kidnapped both of my kids, was trying to marry the older one, and was keeping the younger one in a cage at a different location. Also, the younger one had turned into a cat. It sounds funny now, but trust me, it was very unsettling while it was happening.
So, here I sit. Retaining 50 gallons of water, traumatized yet again by Donald Trump, and forcing myself to try to write something entertaining because this is why I wake up at four thirty in the damn morning every single day. So that I can write captivating words such as these. Sigh…is it just me, or is it really hard to keep shit together? Like, I will do really good for a little while with some things, but inevitably then other things fall to the wayside. So, I turn my attention to those things, and the other shit falls off the map. Either I am just a terrible multi-tasker (true) or I am just trying to do too much stuff (also true). No wonder people throw their hands up and settle for less. They get to sleep a little later and accept that there will be no thigh gap again in this lifetime.
Me? I feel sleep deprived, and refuse to accept my thighs even though they haven’t done anything wrong, really, except kindly store the weight that has nowhere left to go. Like, how can you be mad at your body? It’s not my body’s fault. My body didn’t just decide to hoover down a gallon of ice cream. I did that. Poor body. If it had a voice of its own, I’m sure it would have a few choice words for me.
On the bright side, however, I am only working half a day today. I’m taking my mom to get a pedicure and then she gets to go with me to pick Cam up from school, which, you know, that’s a big deal for a kid when some other member of the family shows up at school. I loved when my grandparents would pick me up! It didn’t hurt that they always pulled me out of school early and whisked me away to their house in the mountains. I felt like I was really getting away with something. So I am looking forward to that, and to going to the gym later on. And to drinking a gallon of water to get this salt out of me.
Also looking forward to the day when one salty meal and a bad dream doesn’t completely derail my life, but alas- I do not see that day on the horizon.