The weekly State of the Insomniac: Mother’s Day Edition

I’ve been having mild success with taking melatonin to help me sleep. I’m writing this post at 4am so you’d be correct in guessing I forgot to take it. I’m gonna talk about my pathetic attempts to show my mom how much I appreciate her.

I bought some melatonin capsules a while back and didn’t have much success with them because I just kept forgetting to take one at a reasonable time.  Thinking ‘Wow, I should take some melatonin’ doesn’t really help when you have to be awake in four hours.  Finally I got smart and set an alarm on my phone.  Every night, at midnight, take the damn melatonin and go back to whatever your stupid Sims 3 family has been doing (like ignoring the sink spraying water all over the kitchen to go play in a puddle outside).

And well, since I’m writing this post at four in the morning, you’d be correct in assuming that I forgot to take it tonight.  Yeah yeah, phone, lemme just snooze the alarm for a sec — oops, I hit dismiss instead, that’s fine, I’ll take it right after I…  Yeah, nope.  Good job, dumbass.

I live with my mother.  She’s got health fuckery that worries me and I’ve been living with her as a caregiver.  She lets me live in her house and take hot showers and complain about the oven-like atmosphere that comes with living in a desert, and in return I schlep her around (in her car, which she can no longer drive herself) to doctors appointments and quilt stores and the Free Wifi Place AKA Starbucks.  She does a lot for me and don’t think that I’m not incredibly grateful for that.  I’m uncomfortable when people tell me how ‘brave’ or ‘good’ I am for helping her out.  It’s something a decent human being should do, especially in my circumstance of having needed a place to live anyway.  I live in fear of the day I realize I can’t take care of her alone anymore and we have to hire someone to come in every day and help her, and the idea of her in a nursing home — even a good one — makes me sick.

Nobody’s been stupid enough to suggest that I put her in a home so I can go live my life.  The internet doesn’t count, I can laugh those idiots away.  I mean that nobody’s said it to my face.  If they’re strangers I can make a snappy comment about their family.  If they’re friends I’ll probably chuckle because they’re saying it as a form of mockery, and if they’re actually serious I’ll slap the shit out of them and lose their contact info faster than you thought a human could unlock a phone.  Point is, I’ve received nothing but support from my very sparse Venn diagram of social circles.  I’ve curated it pretty carefully, so I’m not surprised.  That doesn’t stop me from worrying about what people think of me, because that’s just how anxiety works.

My mom’s included in that worrying.  Every time she buys dinner, every cut of fabric I add of my own at the quilt store, every time I drive her car to the gaming store, I wonder Does she know that I can’t truly put into word or deed how grateful I am?

When my dad was still around, I woke up one Father’s Day morning (I lived with him) and announced to him that I was spending the whole day with him.  We did what he wanted, all day, no reasonable request denied.

Enter Mother’s Day this year.  I did much the same.  She said she wanted to get coffee and we went.  While sponging that sweet free wifi I hit up Google maps and found out the nearby quilt store was open on sunday.  ‘So, here’s the deal.  We can go to the thing right now, but it won’t be your favorite.  Or we can go to your favorite tomorrow or something, but then it won’t be Mother’s Day.’  She gave me a funny look because she didn’t quite understand.  I repeated it as we left the parking lot.  She suddenly snickered and mumbled something, catching on. She wanted to go today.

Well, it’s her day so all right.  To the quilt store, where I told her she could get whatever she wanted (uh, within reason — I don’t have the money for a serger or a medium arm, sorry mom) and she wasn’t allowed to fuss about the price.  She picked out some stuff, insisted on paying for a ruler I was fully prepared to buy myself because I wanted it too, and chatted with the employee that she knows.  I got some stuff for myself and off we went.  She wanted to go to Target.

I guess not every store has Pride merch.  I was disappointed.  I wanted those gender pronoun pins.  She wanted some color catcher sheets so she could wash some fabric, and a toy on a stick for the cats.  I put the day on pause because my uterus decided it wanted to murder me, and went home.  Mom could use the rest anyway.

After that, we wandered around Best Buy to rubberneck at a new laptop for her. Didn’t buy one, I want to make sure she gets something that’s mildly balanced and not a flashy piece of crap. She doesn’t need any touchscreen fuckery or a fancy case.  We went to the Applebees in the same parking lot and stuffed face with steak and cheeseburgers and went back home.  She fondled fabric and watched HGTV, I wasted time on Facebook and reddit.  The cats ignored the thing on a stick, because of course they don’t want to play with it right now.

This weekend has been pretty epic.  We didn’t fight, we went to the Music of John Williams concert and freaked out when Vader showed up, and today was a huge success.  I forgot to take her to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 again, but I can fix that soon enough.  We’ll go back to our usual routines later where our schedules don’t mesh quite right, get cranky with each other about stupid shit, watch Stephen Colbert and laugh hysterically, only get half the things done we meant to this week, and hopefully don’t set foot in a restaurant because we need to cook the food we already have here.  I’ve got a list of shit we (and I) need to do on my phone so we might even end the week ahead.

Not everybody has a great relationship with their mom.  And that’s completely understandable, I’ve met some people’s moms and a couple are pretty … yeah.  I tell people I won the Parent Lottery with mine because in my opinion, I wouldn’t trade them for anything less than total world domination with zero chance of ever being overthrown.  Hey, everyone’s got a price.

Now let’s see if I can get me some sleep.  The girls have a vet appointment this afternoon and won’t that be a fun ride in the car…

Charm packs, obsessive counting, and insomnia

I bought some charm packs for a project, my sleep schedule is behaving well, I exercise some self control and sleep instead of play with fabric.

My mother’s quilting group went on a mini shop hop as one of their last events before ending for the summer (many of them are snowbirds and take off for more hospitable climates when the weather gets stupid here in the desert). We only went to the one store and they had a great demo of how to take ten inch squares and make triangles out of them. I’ve wanted to branch out from squares and rectangles for a while. Everyone was given a pattern, and since my mother and I live together the store gave me a different pattern. I would’ve been content just sharing with mom the one everyone else got.
So, since I had this pattern that wanted a butt load of 10″ squares or a smaller version calling for three 24-count 5″ squares, I picked up a pair of Moda charm packs that I like. Two 42-count packs will work instead and possibly leave me with either lots of leftovers or a bigger quilt. The colors are kind of on the ‘bright’ side for me, but if I’m ambivalent on the final result I know I can find a good home for it. I made it about four hours before I opened them up to fondle them.
I have this thing where I have to count some things. Label says there’s 42 in a pack, I have to count them. And then again, in case I was wrong the first time. If I’m interrupted I have to start over from the beginning and count twice again, because who/whatever interrupted me ruined the routine. Lacking even feline interference for a change I counted the first pack which had 44(!) squares, very exciting. The second pack didn’t. So then I had to go through and fold over each square, one pack and then the other, to see which ones were extra. They turned out to be orange hues. I pulled them out to separate them and they’ll go in a comic book sleeve as a scrap square for later pillaging. I’ll have to write a post about that with some pictures.

(02:52) Now the two packs are taunting me. I had a really awful sleep cycle the last couple of weeks and I’m absolutely exhausted. I really really want to play with them, sort them and re sort them and organize them and do layouts and put them back in piles, them sort them properly for the project and get them ready for sewing. And here is an example of why I’m NOT just making a choice to be irresponsible – I’m not gonna play with them until Thursday. Nope, I am tired AF and I’m going to sleep because hallefrickinlujah, I’m gonna sleep. It’s a blessed feeling to feel like sleeping, wanting to sleep, and feeling that I can sleep. I’m not gonna spoil that just so I can molest some fabric.
I’ll dream of sewing charm pack squares and cutting them into triangles. And I might even wake up on time, if the cats leave me alone.

The beginning of something great and terrible.

So my friend at nerdbabyconfessions.wordpress.com wanted some motivation to get back to her blog.  I’ve been wanting to START a blog for a few years now.  So here we are.  This is a blog of whatever topic I can think of at the time, probably written when I can’t sleep, about various topics.  These might include gaming, witchcraft, being a genderqueer female-presenting pansexual with lesbian tendencies, writing and reading novels, playing with yarn, playing with fabric, camping, my cats, and general musings about life.  If any of these topics offend you, I’m sure there’s something else on the internet that better suits your blogreading needs.  I’ll try to stay away from politics, but with a few of the preceding topics being hot-button issues in the American political landscape, there’s bound to be some bleeding over.  I make no absolute guarantees.

 

Regarding the title of this blog: I’m a combo insomniac/hypersomniac.  I can’t get to sleep worth a damn, but once I’m there it’s probably easier to teach a cat to tap dance than wake me up.  It’s pretty frustrating, especially since I’m the live-in caretaker for my disabled mother … and she doesn’t really ‘get’ that my all-night computer binges aren’t really voluntary.  After a couple hours of staring at the insides of my eyelids and tossing about wishing I could sleep, I’m better off finding something to watch on Netflix.  Hell, sometimes it even works and I manage to get to sleep … which becomes a problem when I want to wake up.

 

And I’ve developed a new problem.  I have an alarm app on my phone that makes me do a few math problems before it’ll stop yelling at me (right now, the alarm ringtone is JARVIS telling me to wake up).  I learned the other day that I’m now capable of hitting the ‘snooze’ function and doing basic math … without waking up.  I discovered this when the alarm finally woke me up … an hour and a half after it started going off.

 

Meditation and exercise might help some, as would a bed that doesn’t have springs that dig into uncomfortable places no matter how I move.  My bedroom is basically a cave with a small amount of indirect light, so some direct sunlight in the morning would be nice too.  And melatonin, if I can remember to take it in time.  This is so not a new problem.  My mother remembers me having trouble getting up even as a child.  I’m a natural night owl.  Mornings are for suckers.  Obviously I should consider getting a sleep study.  I’ll get around to that as soon as I have insurance that will cover such things.