Sleep, I summon you.

I am not getting enough sleep. In fact, I’m barely getting any. It’s not like I have a baby to look after, or am holding three jobs to support the family, so am very perplexed why I’m so deprived. In every sense of being deprived too, if you get my lecherous drift.

When this happened only on Sunday nights, I took it as because I have some anxiety about Mondays and the week ahead and told myself it’s ok, because I have six days in a week to fall back on and catch up on sleep.

Now that it’s happening everyday, it ain’t funny anymore. I’m slowly but surely getting increasingly frustrated. Am very tempted to march to the doctor and demand sleeping pills.

It’s so bad that when I met X for dinner last week, he asked if I used less makeup then commented that I must have not had enough sleep. You don’t say. Tried to comfort me by saying I can tell people I’m gunning for the smoky eye look. Like fuck off already. No one, I repeat, NO ONE uses that effect on the underside of their eyes. Obviously his trying to make me feel better backfired big time.

Then, to add on to my woes, he’s breaking my heart a little more each day. I know he’s extremely busy but I can’t help feeling that he’s brushing me off also, a little more each day.

Mercury has gone into retrograde. I know not what to do now. Actually I do. But I don’t want to. That would be like admitting defeat. And I don’t do that shit.

I’m tired. Physically, mentally and emotionally. I don’t like this mind-fucking. Ok I’m sure the only kind anyone enjoys is the physical kind. Which unfortunately, I’m also receiving none. Ok. Too much information.

Back to my desperation to get me some sleep. I’m reluctant to start popping pills because I’m afraid on being dependent on them long term. And I think I already have too much meds in my body.

Sometimes I can’t concentrate at work. I even lose focus while driving sometimes which is a major no no. I’m starting to lose interest in having a social life. Can’t say for sure if it’s work stress or constantly harping on X or other things. I think I’m incoherent sometimes too. Like now. I’m all over the place like a hyperactive five year old who just discovered and finished an entire jar of cookies. I assure you I’m not drunk.

Perhaps it would be best if I stop here and start counting sheep. Also, I need to find me a wonderful concealer.


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