I’m a night owl by nature. I have been since I was a preteen. I could get up at 6-freaking-am, have absolutely no caffeine (which by the way, when I’m president, will be a capital offense), and run myself ragged. With out fail though. 10 pm rolls around and I’m up. Not only am I wide awake, but I’m ANTSY. Wide awake Sarah + limited drinky + short one + night time = recipe for disaster.
Tonight is exceptionally bad. I didn’t leave the house at ALL. I mean, hell, usually I’ll at least take the short one outside. But noooo. I had to have a cold today. So I spent my day sneezing, coughing and generally feeling like crap. My ass was parked on the couch (there’s a motha fuckin groove now) (I really do have a narrow ass) or in bed sleeping.
That last one. The sleeping part. That’s what’s going to do me in. I try my damnedest to not sleep. When I sleep during the day I’m up ALL night. Like I said. It’s a recipe for disaster if I have the short one. So tonight, I’m writing, going through my music, (wishing I had the new social d cd… who wants to burn it for me) and contemplating asking the neighbors for a beer (since they’re already at it… Happy Friday!).
For those of you who don’t know my schedule (and prob tsk tsk me for going out as much as I do, being a mother and all), Tim takes her for 2 days and 4 nights. It’s kind of my way of staying sane, and not being mad about the lack of child support. He takes her around 8pm Tuesday night through 6am Friday (Wednesday and Thursdays are his days off). Then again 8pm Saturday night to 6am Sunday… so I have one decent night to go out.
So while I have her, Sunday morning through Tuesday night, and Friday through Saturday night, we do lots of fun stuff. I drag this poor child around kingdom come. However, I stay in at night. I don’t have the money to pay for a sitter, and quite honestly there isn’t much to do Sunday night, Monday night and Friday night that interests me.
But like I said insomnia. So I get antsy and think too much. Then my anxiety kicks in. If I’m having a bad day, depression pays me a visit.
Just at night.
So you bet your ass when she’s with her dad on his nights, I get out of the house. I may go roam around the book store, stop at a coffee shop (if I have the fucking $5 to pay for a latte, dammit), or stop at a bar, where one of my lovely friends buys me a drink or if I’m super lucky (Saturday nights) I get to go dancing. All of which occupies my mind (the dancing occupies my body) and it’s (mostly) free. I don’t have to think.
I’m just a social person. Social interaction clears my head and tones down the anxiety (which apparently is ass backwards but meh, I don’t argue).
So here I am, not feeling too horrible (thanks Beckie) and getting antsy. Posting rambling blogs. Shaking my fist at my play list, and randomly working out. Grr. It’s not even 11 yet. It’s going to be a long night.