It’s a very apt feature image this week, a rather fitting metaphor for myself in the middle of the night. Bright lights. As in I am wide awake, in no relevance to how utterly tired and exhausted I am. The same routine every night of tiredness and initial sleep, followed by some lightning stroke in my head about an hour later and me being wide awake for the rest of it.
School started again this week so life should go back to normal. But it has not and after two months of working mainly nights and too many of them at that, neither mind nor body can handle this lack of nocturnal rest particularly well. Not at all really.
I have gone through this week in Zombie mode, dangling from one day to the next but not really paying attention to what’s going on. A good thing has happened, that I am itching to tell the world but it’s not quite wrapped up yet and I don’t want to jinx it.
I had the best intentions of starting spring cleaning by the stroke of January 1st, which if I’m lucky will be completed by Christmas. And I downloaded the Couch to 5k onto my phone so I can finally get my backside into gear again and do some proper exercise but so far – you can guess – that has not happened yet either. Any leftover motivation you have, please send it my way, I am in dire use of it.
Friday the boys go to stay with their dads for the weekend and although I miss them like mad, I am glad I can spend the next couple of days not doing much and at least try to catch up on this elusive thing called sleep. I’ve tried the warm bath, the no internet or TV (yes, believe it or not I am capable of doing that), the hot chocolate, the herbal tea – you name it, I tried it and nothing has helped. This is not such a great start to the new year and I really hope it improves and pronto at that.
After a whole week of lethargy, I did feel obliged to do something on Sunday. The weather wasn’t too bad, I had to leave the house anyway to pick up Son C from his Dad so I decided a little detour would do me good. My choice fell on Highgate Cemetery. East, as West is only accessible by guided tour and I thought to best leave that for the summer. Karl Marx is buried here, looking down oversized and sternly from his headstone but then dying is serious business I guess so he has every right to look a bit grumpy. I have a thing for old cemeteries, the withered old headstones with their decaying beauty fascinate me. It would be an utter exaggeration to say my little wander made me feel invigorated, but it did blow some cobwebs out of my head. I also discovered soft sugar and cinnamon pretzels that afternoon, which was a surprising taste sensation, I intend to have again soon.