The meaning of life

I had a long weekend, although it was short in the number of hours I was actually awake. I woke up in the late afternoon Saturday, went back to sleep after a few episodes of some British crime series, woke up again later in the evening and then went back to sleep and slept 'til noon on Sunday. At which time I woke up with a blistering headache which I decided to sleep off but failed to and awoke to misery in the later afternoon. I watched a few more crimes being solved and went back to sleep again.
Monday was a torture of queasiness and dazed headache-mind; probably from sleeping too much...

In retrospect it seems self-punishing, all this sleeping, although at the time it seems reasonable, even desirable. It seems like a good idea to cocoon myself in my sheets and snuggle into that warm safe place where the concious mind doesn't reach. What's worse is, I can't find a reason not to. There is nothing that is more compelling than going back to sleep, So, on Monday morning when I should go to my therapy appointment to talk about this I decided it's more convenient, more pleasurable, easier to sink back into that dreamy haze. It's as if I don't take this opportunity to sleep now, it will be lost to me forever.

The fact the headache started then was such a convenient excuse. I could tell myself that I really had a reason to stay in bed and skip my appointment, in fact not even call to cancel, because I was so incapacitated. Oh yeah.

Today I got up at seven, when the clock rang; there was only the slightest bit of hesitation. I went for a walk, like my sleep doctor told me, to wake my brain up with light. I am giving it a week. If I can do a week then maybe I can do two... Go to bed at midnight, get up at seven; I have had enough sleep to last me a lifetime.

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