Yesterday after falling asleep on the toilet and then faceplanting into the keyboard I went straight to bed to stare at the wall waiting to sleep. Yep, in spite of literally falling asleep in one of the most uncomfortable places in the house just minutes earlier I was wide awake in the bed. No, I can’t explain it either.
Well something that might explain it is my ant bites/stings are both healing and starting to get infected, both of which lead to discomfort from itching. Some are healing up, some are getting infected, and I think the difference is which are bites and which are stings. I can’t tell the difference which was which now, because of inflammation and infection, but before that set in bites had two punctures from the mandibles, while stings were just a single puncture, from the stinger naturally.
Anywho, I spent several hours thinking of nothing and counting my breaths to try to relax and get to sleep, and sometime before sunrise which was 0643 this morning. I count breaths instead of sheep because I keep trying to write stories about the stupid sheep, why are they there and why are they jumping over that stupid fence and where do they go after they jump over the fence. And then I interview the sheep as to what’s happening, if they are running from anything or to anything, and I can’t find my notepad, and somewhere along the line I’m having a nightmare about what the sheep are running from and why they are so orderly about it but at least I’m asleep. When I count my breaths I avoid the nightmares about persecuted sheep. With as many PTSD triggers as I have I really don’t need more nightmares.
And speaking of my favorite mental illness… I think Trump tweets have become a new anxiety trigger, especially when he starts tweeting about wars. I can’t verify this hypothesis because I unfollowed @realDonaldTrump from my twitter so I don’t see most of his trash, but the ones I do see cause me a case of the willies, even the ones where he’s not on about the Russians and Fake News. Those are the worst, followed by Trade Wars, but even the twitter fights about LeBron James are upsetting for some reason. I would rather have the dreams about the sheep than read Trump Tweets. Maybe it’s because I spent so much of my youth scared to death about a crazy old man with his finger on The Button, afraid he would snap and put us all in the end scene of Planet of the Apes or Them!. Trump is old enough to remember that shit, but took too many drugs in his teens and twenties to remember much of anything.
And I’m melting in the office whie my laptopis acting crazy and only intermittently recognizind keypresses and I can’t see the kyboard clearly anyway, Office topped out at 90°F this afternoon.
Witch on a Bicycle 