Tired of Being Tired

Tomorrow is my mother’s second cataract surgery. It’s scheduled for 7am, which means I need to have her there by 6:30, so I’m getting up at 5am tomorrow. I am not excited about this.

I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who wake up bright and early every morning, rested and ready to take on the day; instead, I drag myself out of bed like a swamp demon, half asleep with snarled hair and a puffy face.

As controversial as this is, I like sleep. Big fan. Of course, as we all know, our society pushes the narrative that getting proper sleep means you’re lazy. Everyone is in a constant competition over how few hours they get by on every night, and how exhausted and sleep deprived they are.

In my opinion, “tired” has become a personality (or substitute for not having one, as it were).

Obviously, there are times when sleep deprivation is unavoidable, the first example coming to mind being when you have a baby. Those little shits sleep in like, 20-minute stretches sometimes, which is awesome.

Really. No sarcasm here, haha!

The majority of the time though, we’re doing this to ourselves.

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had insults hurled at me by people claiming to love me, I’d be a wealthy woman.

Go to bed by 10pm? Lazy.
Not up at 4am and doing twelve things before leaving for work? Lazy.

For a long time, I internalized that toxic shit, and repeatedly pushed myself to the point of
collapse in a desperate, futile attempt to be good enough.

Fuck that. Sincerely, fuck that.

One of my favorite stories about Jay is from a couple days after our wedding. We had a very small, low-key ceremony, followed by a cookout in my in-laws’ back yard. Even so, weddings are stressful and time consuming, and our house got pretty chaotic in the last few days before.

So there I was, with the ink barely dry on our marriage certificate, standing in our kitchen scream-crying over a sink full of dishes. Jay cut me off mid-rant and ordered me to go take a nap.

After blinking at him blankly for a second or two, I started yelling even more, demanding to know what the FUCK he thought he was pulling here, telling me what I was and was not going to do. He yelled right back that this wasn’t even about dishes, it was about how I was worn out, stressed out, and had been doing way too much so TAKE A DAMN NAP

Long story short, I went and laid down for a couple hours, Jay and the kids cleaned the house, and things seemed a lot better after that.

I’d like to say that was the last time he had to tell me to get some sleep, but I would be lying.

Undoing 30 years of bullshit is a long process, and I didn’t suddenly stop being fucked up because I had someone in my life who actually supported me. I’m trying though, and I’m doing better. Someday, I might even turn into one of those perky fuckers and get on my own nerves.

Dude… if you become that broad, I will straight up take away your “asshole” card, necklace, and title. XOXO – Dissy.

Until Next Time,

Cent’anni Bitches!

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