A Day Off for Mary or The Beginning of the Middle of the End

Another night of sleepless sleep. Too much dreaming. Too much leaving on of the television. Too much.

I have been viewing the time I set my alarm as a challenge of how long to remain in bed these days. Today, I fell short by several hours. It's that old irony of hating to take naps as a child and then growing into adulthood only to find that you would give your kingdom -- or a whole pie -- for the chance to take a nap on a weekday afternoon. If only this phase shift of desire and delivery could right itself.

The drive last night was quiet. Music-filled, but quiet. We didn't say much. But the negotiations and reprimands went on full force in the privacy of my soundproof skull. I wanted to step out of my thoughts and into the present, but I never managed to.

I am beginning to feel as if everything that I used to be proud of in myself is now part of everything that I see as flawed and detrimental. The qualities that made me well-liked and accessible and easy to love and easy to know -- I feel as if I am beginning to despise those qualities outright.