I'm not talking self-loathing. This time. I'm angry at my body, I guess. I'd punch myself in the face if I thought it might do any good.
Saturday, I bailed on Little Sawatdee/Pornld's baby shower because I was wiped out and feeling generally not great. I spent the bulk of the day on the couch. I was in bed early, because apparently, I'd had a taxing day laying on the couch, reading comic books and watching TV. But I slept horribly. I didn't lay awake for that long, but I kept waking up all night. I'm not even sure I actually slept that much -- it might have been mostly dozing.
Wouldn't you know it, I was up at 7:20 Sunday morning. FUCK. My attempts at working out were thwarted, because after about 40 minutes, I couldn't take the dizziness any longer. Sometimes I feel very dizzy and light-headed when I'm really tired. I don't like it. Fortunately, I was fairly productive the rest of the day. But sleep was once again a fickle bitch. Why on Earth would I possibly want to fall asleep before 1:00? I finally gave in and took some Benadryl to knock my ass out and here I am today, all zombie-like and cranky.
I really thought I'd get plenty of sleep this weekend. The Boy I Currently Like was camping with a couple of friends (I had to cook my own damn bacon yesterday. BOO!), so there would be no staying up until 5:00 a.m., playing video games and screwing around. No fucking dice, though. I missed him, I think. And I was sleeping without the very loud white noise of the AC for the first time in several days. Oh, and PMS tends to give me a touch of insomnia. Something of a perfect storm for shitty sleeping, I guess.
Nothing a little outdoor yoga can't fix, I hope.