Yesterday was one of those grit your teeth style days where you just keep plugging on through it in the hope that something will give, and that something is not you.
I have not been sleeping well, and although I have been tired, I have also been wired to the max, so I have been awake in that mildly narcotic, twitchy, wild eyed state FOREVER.
Until yesterday when it all caught up with me and I had major, major fatigue and just wanted to sleep.
After ferrying me and all three children for dental check ups, and paying for more dentistry, because why the hell not? I had to be home in time for my Ocado order which I had foolishly ordered before I realised I had dentistry to attend to, and once I could not change the delivery time.
We spent over an hour getting home due to dentistry finishing just after rush hour began, and there was a time when I felt that I might actually have to pull into a lay-by and have a snooze the desire to sleep was so strong, and even loud music and winding the window down wasn’t helping.
We made it by the skin of our teeth, without having to pit stop for sleep.
But tea was beyond me. Tilly took over (I love her, despite the fact that she is mrs Vague of the vague clan this week), and I was able to power nap on the sofa for an hour, which was most necessary, as by that point all adrenalin had left the building and I was actually beginning to shake.
I am now calmer than I have been for three weeks straight. This may be down to the fact that my husband came home last night. Given that he is about to set off on a weekend camping spree, I am not entirely sure that I can credit him with all the calming influence, but some of it can be laid at his door, for which I thank him.
How I feel now reminds me rather of the stress of having a new baby, when you spend about six weeks manically skittering around in your head and in real life, panicking that you are doing it wrong, breaking the baby, failing in every way, etc, and that should you relax, God knows what crazy damage you will inflict. Then, at around the six week mark, your body throws its hands up and goes, ‘Bugger that, I’m knackered, I’m off to bed,’ and you kind of flop back into life in an exhausted way.
I slept last night, for the first time in days, without waking up worrying about burglars, or aneurysms, or having forgotten to do something. I woke up feeling rested.
I am knackered again now, but I have quite a lot of sleep to catch up on, so it’s not surprising.
It’s just nice to feel slightly less clenched, and troubled.
Isn’t sleep lovely?