new time zone

It seems I've adjusted to a new time zone since moving to Chapel Hill. Yes, it was a straight shot south, for you map geeks. But steadily since August 1st my bedtime has creeped later and later. With no structure or job, my new bedtime has leveled out at a shocking 6:30 a.m. I wrote before about not being a morning person; however, I truly didn't expect I'd be missing mornings all together. But it's uncomfortable. I'm tired. I've only slept a handful of hours at most a night. I can't seem to sleep in our bed. It's a combination of the blaring Metallica from next door til 3 a.m. (filed noise complaint today), the fact that everytime I crawl into bed Gabe wakes up and is restless for hours (insomnia is contagious), and now I've managed to convince myself that the bed is facing the wrong direction and needs to be moved 180 degrees.

I know part of the problem is anxiety. New place, Gabe's new job, new life. Add that there is a wedding in two months which I haven't planned much for. We need curtains. I filed an extension on my taxes and still haven't done them. I need to renew my passport. I need a working phone. I need to do all the paperwork for NC licensure. We're suddenly contemplating buying a house before the wedding. Do we try to have a baby soon? Do I get a job? I need to start writing. I still have to get a new license and register my car. Should we just sell my car and get a used one to save money? What's going to happen to our national healthcare system?

Sigh. So I'm left wondering if I suck it up and don't sleep one whole night so I can have a more normal bedtime. Or do I just embrace this, and try to be creative/productive at 4 in the morning. Last night I thought it might help to read, since I'd have someone else's story in my head at bedtime, instead of my own. I pulled Augusten Burrough's 'Running with Scissors' from the shelf. I had bought it years ago and just never got around to reading it. I read 250 pages straight. That plan for a lullaby narrative didn't work. I woke up this morning and finished the rest.

If you need a beach read that details dysfunctional families on a grander scale than you've previously imagined, this is the book for you. It's a memoir, which has subsequently been contested by many of the characters in the story. I thought the book was sad, funny, interesting, disgusting, and unbelievably engaging. And then I looked it up on The Google today, and read his mother's blog, interviews with the adoptive siblings, bios, the lawsuit.... it's like Part II. Part III is the movie that was made in 2006.

So I suppose I will get working on that to-do list that has become a mountain in my mind. Also a rigorous grounding program. Yesterday was the worst. My computer screen shattered (I guess I stepped on it?), I got two splinters, a bad stomachache, and I bonked my head - HARD- at least ten, fifteen times all around the house, along with various other minor injuries. At times like this I just don't function well in Earth's gravity. Once I reached down for a paper towel and hit the top of my head sharply on the corner of the counter. You know how there's that half-second pause of numbness, and you just brace yourself for the impact of shooting pain? I waited and bam! holy crap. I reeled to the ground and saw some stars (I didn't know that was literal!). As I was lying on the carpet moaning I opened my eyes and saw Daphne curled up in the corner, tail tucked neatly under her, just staring at me with her wise yellow-green eyes. If Daphne could talk it would be in a snobby accent. And she would shake her head and go 'tsk, tsk': "You really must get a hold of yourself woman."