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3:18 p.m. - 2010-06-22

Had a couple short sleep nights in a row, awake way too late and up way too early. So this morning when it seemed as if going back to sleep would be no problem I hugged the kid, kissed Mick, made sure the pets were adequately fed and watered and did just that. Back to bed, back to sleep.

Bad idea.

The racing churning mind that refused to let me sleep the previous two nights this morning refused to let me wake up. At least until it had its way with me and fucked me over but good. Even now hours later the body has been out of bed, but some part of my brain is still asleep, still there in the torture place. I feel it thrumming along the nerves in my arms, in the wobble of my knees, in the way my ears seal up deaf to everything but the random thuds and riffs of my heart.

I've tried bringing all of me here into the now. Doing chores requiring logistics- rearranging and refitting the complicated jigsaw of the triple cabinet beneath the microwave where the oddly shaped groceries, bake ware, and dry goods live. The giant mayonnaise jar, the floppy gallon bag of elbow noodles, the pyrex which refuses to nest neatly.

I went out with the dog, the hazy no-time of this still and syrupy day didn't help. No sun, no wind, no shadows, no movement or sound, everything outside a stage set between performances.

I rambled through a goodly bit of A.O. Scott's 'Critic's Picks' videos on the NYT website. I like A.O. Scott with his mild voice and his sweetly bland potato face. I like the way he deftly straddles the very tricky line between movies as Art and movies as sheer joyful entertainment. A film critic without an axe to grind, without snobbishness, yet so very knowledgeable. A.O. Scott 'gets' movies and what makes us love them. Or hate them. A true cinephile without agenda. Except the same one as my own, which is to say, don't be lazy or inept. Make a good movie. Just do it right.

I've checked in on FB. But am strangely tongue-tied there. This happens a lot. I don't twitter for the same reason. I'm not good at the pithy quip. Verbosity has its pitfalls.

Trying to get the guts up to shower. Right. It's not even the Hitchcockian aspect, I got over my Janet Leigh thing a long time ago. No, I'd be safe enough in my snug shower stall with its cheerful striped curtain, it's what would be waiting on the other side of the carefully locked bathroom door. Monsters? Maybe. More likely the phone message from the school, the house suddenly ablaze or reduced to rubble. Ever so silly, but when my nerves are twanging like this the vigil MUST be kept.

Am I crazy? Oh yes. That was established quite some time ago, thankyouverymuch. On meds, getting help, not much more I can do. Quack at me if you like, if it gives you satisfaction and a sense that your own demons are so much more manageable. Glad to be of service.

I know already that I won't be wanting to go to bed tonight.


Bugger this banged up brain of mine. ~LA

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