My Fucking Feelings

The client I couldn’t help

Oct 5th. 7:45am

Warning: This is not a blog. This is personal writing. For me. Not you. It may or may not have a point. Most likely the latter.

I am tired. My hair is jacked. Didn’t sleep well again. I go through stretches of semi good sleep and shitty sleep. But it’s a lot better than the two years of FML no sleep I went through a few years ago. I was a human exhaust pipe, Edward Norton, before he met Brad Pitt. I’m also a lot less afraid of when the crash will hit. Usually in the afternoon. And if I’m lucky, I’ll actually nap. I always hope for the kind of nap where you wake up not knowing where you are or who you are. Those don’t happen when we’re adults. Our distorted thought don’t allow us to go that deep during the day. We live with mental electric sock fences that prevent us from hopping the achievement wall. Those deep naps are like rare collectibles if experiences were antiques. They remind me of junior high when I used to crash on my mom’s bed after school. Her bedroom came with the perfect breeze and the faint sound of kids playing outside. I felt the safest in that space. I yearn for that feeling again.

But I am able to file taking a nap under Self Care these days, instead of “You’re a lazy piece of shit” or “What are you doing with your life?” — my inner dialogue for…