No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn...

Or 'till Withdrawal is over..Whichever comes first!

Brace yourselves. This will be boring. This will be stupid to read. This is ramblings of a crazy person, in the throes of withdrawal-induced insomnia, in the middle of the night, for the past two days. It had to go somewhere. I couldn’t just, you know, keep it to myself, could I? Watch my crazy mind pinging, randomly.

2:48 A.M.

I’m up. Withdrawal induced insomnia is a bitch. I’ve been up for hours. But, I finally gave in to the insomnia and just got out of bed. Random thoughts, at 2:48 A.M.

Are there periods in A.M.? I always forget. Are there periods in P.M, too? Is it capitalized? Standby, I must consult the Google machine…processing…processing…It’s a.m. and p.m. for standard APA, MLA and the Chicago Manuals of Style. Well, there you go. We’ve all learned something. I probably should’ve known that. The key is that I knew where to go to look it up; and, that’s what I always tell my students. Know what you don’t know, and know where to find it.

Ping!

Before the breeze really picks up across the ocean, and the house is really quiet, you can hear the seals barking from the Seal Rescue. This is a few miles from the house. I wish we had a seal. Not a big seal. Just a small seal. I could name him Frank and the puns I could make on both the words, frank and seal, would be endless. Oh, and I’d have a seal, which would be awesome. Bryon would be displeased if I ever brought home a seal.

Ping!

If I can make it until 6 am, DAMNIT! 6 a.m. (told you, I always forget), I will be about 30 mg “ahead” in this whole shit-storm that is withdrawal. I have felt pretty lousy, but I didn’t feel terrible until last night. Today, it feels like someone is trying to crush my legs, by taking each square inch of bone, and treating it, individually, to a spa day at Guantanamo. That’s not a great analogy, what with the Geneva Convention and all. Let your mind wander to a torture-y place. It’s 3 a.m. I’m not good at the thinking. Not to feel left out, the joints are being treated to a special experience called:

P.S. A dear friend got her children a drum set for Christmas. It's currently set up in their driveway, where they've been playing it for the past few days. I think they're getting better at composing music. 

Bet you forgot about bone pain being one of the worst parts of withdrawal. I can barely move. I guess bone pain isn’t showy enough for television depictions of withdrawal, when vomit is so flashy. Vomiting is pretty easy to control with meds; although, nausea sticks around, that much I can tell you. In general, the crawling out of your skin, and anxiety, make a good showing in Hollywood. That’s somewhat controllable with non-addictive meds, but they knock you out, which isn’t a bad thing through the whole process, frankly (see, if I had a seal, I could have said, “sleeping seals off the rough spots, frankly” – is that only funny to me because it’s the middle of the night?). But, even with the helper meds, I’m a whiny, angry, grouchy, anxiety-ridden, moody mess. Yesterday, I cried about my toothbrush. Not really sure why, I just did. Toothbrushes are sad, sometimes.

Being 30 mg ahead should’ve take about 20 days. With my experience, and how my body treats withdrawal, it should’ve taken me about 30-45. It’s taken me 8. If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be done in two to four days. I’ll also become the world’s shortest supermodel, as I’ll have achieved the haute-couture malnourishment weight. I’ve lost eleven pounds, so far. Although, I think that other things have to happen for that to happen, like being discovered at a mall food court, and not being almost forty. Oh, being really pretty. But, you never know, right? I could be one of those “atypically” attractive supermodels, right? Right? Right?

Ping!

My husband made an adorably silly mistake, trying to be thoughtful with Christmas surprises. He went to Ulta to get “girly gifts.” First of all, he used my bonus points account, which I’ve instructed him to do, if he ever goes there. Good husband. Ulta e-mailed me three days later to ask if I liked my items, then listed them. Bad Ulta.

He bought me a head-wrap, the kind that black women wear to either sleep, to protect their hair, or out and about when their hair isn’t set. His theory was that because I wear fabric headbands around the house a lot, and I like bright, colorful things, this must be a perfect gift. Plus, this one looked so wide, that the bigger the better, right? Oh husband, that only works with jewels…

Which he also bought. He got me gorgeous earrings. Thus, I can forgive his lack of knowledge in the head-wrap mielleux.

Shhh. Don't tell Rachel she's a bad photographer. She already knows, but don't tell her, anyway. She's particularly moody right now. But, aren't these pretty? I like them. Sparkly!

Shhh. Don't tell Rachel she's a bad photographer. She already knows, but don't tell her, anyway. She's particularly moody right now. But, aren't these pretty? I like them. Sparkly!

Ping!

We had Christmas dinner with an Evangelical Christian family, which meant a prayer before eating. It warms my heart when people share their home and their faith with us, and to accept us the way we are. Shockingly, when we joined hands, no one burst into flames, and we were able to refrain from chanting curses that sent them to hell (all atheists know them, of course). Overall, a successful prayer.

But, we were not wrong in assuming that based on the faith, this would be a tad more than just a few mumbled words with bowed heads and hands in laps. So, I’m glad we prepped Collin about what he might expect. Collin does better in new social situations if he has time to plan his potential responses. Our boy was so adorable. There was never a more atheist-raised child in an Evangelical home, trying to fit in properly, as our son. He assumed that all prayers are done the way he’s seen in paintings, with tee-pee hands, and a bowed head.

Almost as if it was on cue, the moment they said it was time for prayer, he sat in his seat, bowed his head and folded his hands in the little tee-pee, and was ready to go. Unfortunately, this was a hand-holding-around-the-table-family. I wish it would’ve been respectful to ask them to pause their chat with God to get a camera for that moment; but, I get that it’s not.

Sometimes, you don’t notice things like that as autism, you think that it’s just a kid making a cute mistake. But, once you know it’s there, you realize why the mistake was made. He had a rehearsal in his mind (like anyone might do), and it didn’t go the right way. For most people, ambiguity means rolling with the punches when the rehearsed situation doesn’t go the right way; for Collin, there’s only the rehearsed way.

Ping!

I wonder if there’s anything about me and my family that annoys my neighbors. I think of this, every so often. Do we make weird noises? Does my patio look too gross? Do they wish I put on clothes more often to let out the dog? It’s just jammies, don’t get excited. I’m such a baby, super sensitive to noise, like Collin is, that I have to wear headphones a lot, so it makes me put myself in others’ shoes and wondering what it is that we might be doing to bother our community.

I bet it’s dog poop. She poops a lot. It’s Collin’s chore, and he can’t easily reach the garbage can lid, not with a shovel full of shit, so he only has to scoop it to a very specific, out-of-the-way corner of the yard (you see how I’m basically defending myself here?). Have you seen the size of the beast making it? Every week, or every other week, we scoop the massive pile of, what is now, roughly manure into a big bag, and dump it. By then, it’s, shall we say, molten. It doesn’t really smell by then, but it’s a mass. So, maybe we’re the poop yard.


4 a.m. the next day – told you, withdrawal is a bitch

I wish Coke came in juice box packaging. The straw would be aces. And, I bet the little foil insulation would keep it pretty cold. Still, nothing beats the can. Maybe they could just put a straw on the can. Coke should call me.

Ping!

I just hit my cat in the face with my computer. I’m a terrible person, and I’m going to pet hell. It doesn’t matter that it was an accident. His little kitten face was shocked and awed. I have nerve damage to my hands, so I have difficulty with grip strength activities, such as picking up small, but heavy objects, or opening pill bottles, for example. Anything small, that requires strength, vexes me greatly. Kitten, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

While he seems to have forgiven me, what with the sitting right next to me, something in his eyes suggests that he's plotting revenge. What do you think?

While he seems to have forgiven me, what with the sitting right next to me, something in his eyes suggests that he's plotting revenge. What do you think?

Ping!

Homer just pried open the hall closet three inches, wiggled his fat butt inside, meowed, and then walked out. What could he be thinking? Cats are weird. All the while Loki, nestled next to me, got intensely excited, and wanted to join, but refrained. I sensed his excitement because his but was wiggling like it was filled with bees. Homer is now, wandering the house, howling. He doesn’t like it when only one person is awake. He feels that everyone should be up to watch him sleeping, as it’s morning nap time, now.

Indeed, I’ve spent the last few hours blathering to you all, reading, or staring into space, waiting for it to be time to reasonably wake up my family. Oh my god, I’m Homer. Or, I’m a crazy cat lady, who talks into space about how silly her cats are. What’s happened to me!?

Well, I think that's all from the withdrawal insomnia front for now. This has been a realistic view of both insomnia, and painsomnia. Welcome to the world of both! Hope it's been enlightening. The worst of it should be over for me. Tonight will be rough too, but should be getting better. We shall see. You never know! Wish me luck!