The Bloody Doors Off

I have trouble sleeping. On a good night I need sleeping pills just to get tired. Lately I’ve been pushing back when I take them. It’s even worse right now, because I’ve been up extremely early (comparatively speaking).

Fucking hate that I need sleeping pills. But without ’em, I wouldn’t be crawling into bed until the crack of dawn.

There’s a lot of me in A Song for Rachel, and this is one of them. But she has nightmares. I don’t remember much when I dream.

When I was a kid, different story. I used to have the same dream. I could travel between worlds (the sci-fi nerd is strong in this one) but things were usually backwards. I’m convinced I saw this on television (it was too early to be influenced by a movie, didn’t get to many of those until I was older) and it stuck. I wonder if that has to do with my storytelling: as much as I want to write genuine, down-to-earth stories, I’m attracted to more high concept ideas.

I also used to dream of flying, but as I’m scared of heights (even as a child), I could only go a foot or two off the ground. It was a grand adventure when I got over the hydro wires. The first time I was in an airplane I flew with a neighbour (he had his pilot’s license) in a single engine turbo prop. I think I barfed when he did a barrel roll. To this day I panic on take-offs and landings. In flight, oddly, I’m at ease.

Granted, part of my fucked up sleeping patterns comes from working midnights for a decade. While my schedule was consistent (when I went to bed, when I woke up), I still dealt with major bouts of insomnia. I can remember going well over 24 hours without, several times. And it really fucked up my relationships too: family, friends, girlfriends. I was living a different life than everyone else. Like I was on a parallel world, where everything was backwards to what I knew.

And don’t get me started on the sleep apnea. Without my CPAP, I snore like a sunovabitch and stop breathing several times an hour. Apparently I also kicked my ex-girlfriend. (Remember the Seinfeld episode where Kramer complained that he couldn’t sleep because his girlfriend has ‘jimmy legs’? It’s called restless leg, and I have it.)

So if you’re keeping track, I take a sleeping pill to get me tired enough to sleep, a pill for restless leg, and a large dose of tryptan to keep me asleep. Yup, even when I fall asleep, I have trouble staying down. And the CPAP makes sure air is forced in my lungs.

I’m not even talking about the pills for depression, mood stabilizers, and diabetes meds.

This. This is one of many reasons I had a breakdown last October. And, I fear, if I stay long-term with the newspaper layout job, it could cause a second one.

Goodnight, world.

Sweet dreams.

Two days of beautiful sunshine and plus zero temperature, followed by yesterday’s wallop of over 20 cm of snow. You wouldn’t believe the drifts I had to slog through to get to the job.

Where I spent 7 hours trying to crank out the paper. Yep, thank god I’m being put forward for that Desktop Specialist job in the financial district. I know I can handle that. This current job isn’t my mellieu. I understand it, and I can do it, but they need someone who can accomplish the task in half the time. And with both myself and Walter working on it, that just wasn’t happening. Too many anxiety attacks happening, barely able to step away from the desk for a breather, let alone lunch break.

Oh, and I’m also being put forward for the Presentation Specialist position at the same bank (different job id number). By a second recruiter. Given that there isn’t a conflict, I signed on to be submitted for that as well. Then I got a third phone call from a third recruiter for the same position.

It got funny when I received an email from a Chicago recruiter for the same job in the bank’s Chicago office. (To which I said, if they could find a way to get the paperwork, I’d go for 4 months.)

Bottom line, everything’s in motion. I suspect the interviews and whatnot will move quickly, given what I know of the nature of the job.

Bring it on.

And this song was ringing in my brain yesterday. Seems a bit apropos.

Just finished the phone call with the recruiter. It’d be a 6 month contract, with a possibility of extension. More per hour than I’m making on the 2-day a week job. I’d be invoicing the client directly. They’re looking for a Desktop Publishing Specialist (hello). Right in the heart of the Financial District, where I’ve spent most of my professional life.

Let the negotiations begin.

Today, everything fell apart at the job. The short story: we lost 4 pages right after they were done, went well over the time they want to get things turned out (and this is with two of us), and I knew. I knew. This isn’t the job for me.

And to put a point on it, two recruiters called me and left voice mails (and emails) about a 4 month contract with a bank, doing what I’ve been doing for the past 15 years.

I have to go into the office tomorrow 3 hours early to try and fix the mess that was today. But before that, I’m taking a phone call about the contract.

“If you don’t bend with the winds of change, a breeze is gonna break your back.”

I wrote that years ago for my film noir homage, The Promised Land. And it’s something I need to constantly remind myself.

Had a packed day today, starting with my weekly appointment with my psychiatrist. Good meeting, to be sure. And with the weather hovering around +5C with sun streaming through the clouds, it was lovely even in the short walk from Leslie station to his office. When I was leaving, I noted the tons of time I had before meeting up with my friend Heather for a Qi drop/Reiki appointment, and then the Bachelor finale with Kelly, Claire, Jamilla and Kristeen.

It was then I noticed my vapour battery was running out. I did the math: I could get home, swap it out and still make the appointment. But once I got on the subway towards Sheppard station, life said “fuck you”. There was a ‘service interruption’ at Eglinton station and that meant shuttle buses from Lawrence down to Bloor. So I spent 15 minutes crammed into a thin hallway trying to get to the underground bus bay and the shuttle. Of course the moment I got to the front and a shuttle finally showed up, they announced the subway was running again.

I’d already decided by that point I wasn’t going to make Plan A, so it quickly became Plan B: get to Bloor Street and enjoy a leisurely stroll to Christie and my appointment (which was still close to an hour off). I passed by Honest Eds and was aghast at the line-up. They’re selling the hand-made signs, and people want ’em. Honestly, if I could’ve spared the time, I’d have spent $2-3 bucks for a bit of the history (especially as they had people making them on the spot).

It was also that moment I noticed an email from a client, needing a spot of help.

I was close to the second appointment, and turning around was gonna be more frustrating. Luckily they were okay with me getting it done after. But that also meant cutting short the second appointment (Qi drop only). Texted KAZ, and thankfully everyone was agreeable to tape the finale and start it late. Got home at 7pm, got the work done, and met up at 8:30pm.

If you didn’t watch the show, you missed out. The snark factor was off the charts.

Anyway. My point (and I did have one).

I was frustrated that things weren’t working out like I wanted them to. But, they still worked out. Everything got done, just not as planned.

In this, the frustration in not getting “my way”, I saw my father in myself. He can’t bend. It always has to go his way, or not at all. I don’t want to be like that. I’ve seen where it leads. Loneliness, separation from others, not being actively engaged in life.

Wanna know what’s really funny? Even after I finally got home and replaced the battery on my vapour, I FORGOT IT at home when I went back out to watch The Bachelor. And I knew I wouldn’t need it. That I could bend with the circumstances.

Last night I had a lucid dream. No, a lucid nightmare. That I was having night terrors.

A nightmare of waking up screaming at the top of my lungs, because I was having a night terror.

And it repeated.

I wasn’t sure until now because my roommate says I wasn’t screaming last night. And he was there, trying to wake me up from the night terror, within the nightmare.

Thinking on it now, doesn’t make me feel any better.

Just now I’m remembering something from last night. Only I’m not sure if it really happened, or if I dreamt it happened.

I’m wigged out. More later.

If I could go back in time and relieve one moment.

Huh.

Why this question, tonight?

I’m watching a movie on HBO called ‘Frequently Asked Questions about Time Travel’. A BBC telefilm that mucks about with the premise of 3 guys in a pub who end up tripping through time through a leak in time in the men’s loo. Yes, utterly dumb and charming.

And then I watched this video:

It made me laugh. It broke my heart. It made me feel.

And I realized I really haven’t been feeling anything for a while. Oh there’ve been moments. But nothing sustained.

So if I could go back in time, I’d want to find a moment that sprung forth an extended period of feeling good.

The frustrating thing. In this moment I can picture the individual moments, the jumping off points. But I can also see their inevitable end. I’d know what was coming, and it would seep into the enjoyment and dull it.

That’s what I hate most. I can’t just enjoy the memory, so why would I want to go back and relive it? Which means the real answer is I wouldn’t want to go back to that moment.

So what I need now is to make new moments and enjoy them.

Sounds easy, right?

HA.

How do I do that?

The paper’s upgraded to InDesign. Walter didn’t show up to help with the conversion today. Don’t know how that’s going to play out with the bosses; Eve definitely wasn’t happy he didn’t call in.

Too tired to write more tonight.

There’s usually no warning. No hint. And when it subsides, I’m a mess.

But accomplished.

Manic episodes don’t hit that often, thank god. But when they do, don’t be standing in front of me.

It started with an overwhelming urge to get out and pick up groceries. I needed to pick up some protein, make or freeze a few meals. Now that I’m working two days a week, I want to get into preparing stuff to take in, something better than sandwiches or frozen dinners. And today wasn’t hell-frozen-over, so I walked back, a good 15 minute jaunt. Of course, the dumpster is still in the way and trying to lug the cart over it was its own Herculean effort.

I’d barely gotten stuff put away before it crashed into me. The stove top, the element basins and underneath. Scrubbed for a good half hour under those damned things. Really wish either (a) you could pull the top completely up, or (b) I had one of those new-fangled stoves with the flat ceramic surface.

Once the ingredients for a casserole were cut up and water in the pot for pasta, I was attacking the bathroom. Scrub scrub scrub. Then back to the kitchen. And the bedroom, mirrors, electronics in the living room.

My fingers ache.

I finally calmed down around the time the casserole finished baking in the oven. Now I have to try and unwind and fall asleep early. Gotta go into the office tomorrow and get the paper set up for InDesign. Which is going to bring its own mania.

Yes, Laura. I know. Breathe.