the clock has only hit midnight, but i feel like it’s about 5 am. i’ve been having trouble sleeping, to the point that even when i eventually drift off, i wake up again within hours and lie there, stressed about work/plans/the fact that i am not asleep. mornings, i am up and about by 9 am at the latest, driven in part by the noise of my family. we are a noisy people.
it’s totally fucking me up.
i’m struggling with visiting all my friends and family here in toronto because i’m so out of it, and that makes me feel even more stressed. it’s a cycle, fed by my huge issues with what i see as me “letting people down”. i just need to get over myself, but that can be damn hard when you’re a zombie.
also, let’s be honest: it’s damn hard when you’re used to living alone in a large space on a quiet street in a small city with a mild climate, and habitually are able to control your routine/environment/interactions. i’m eating too little fresh/home-canned fruit, this house is too dry and hot, and these people are all too loud. how could i have come from this place???
cue the violins; exhaustion makes me melodramatic.
minutes ago, i went digging through my dad and stepmom’s medicine cabinet, looking for a headache remedy. i found painkillers with a drowsiness warning, and took two.
in other news, today i got a manicure. ha! no, really. i’m serious. i was hanging out with my 18-year-old sister in london, where she’s at school, and we had a couple hours to kill. she made some ignorant/obnoxious remarks about a panhandler, and i called her on it rather harshly, and then felt bad (though she deserved it). i offered to get her a drink at st@rbucks (surprise surprise, she’s a HUGE fan) in order to buy her love, and one thing led to another, until we were at the nail salon at the shopping plaza next to the bucky’s.
it was okay. i decided that i was having An Experience.
my nails/hands are rough and ragged, my friends… winter makes the skin crack, and i confess that i nervously pick at the tips and edges of my nails. also, i’m always cutting/bruising/staining my hands with tools/bike parts/art stuff/grease. so it looks kinda funny, to have rough skin and short imperfect nails with tidy cuticles and glossy pinkish polish. i don’t think it would be worth it for me to do such a thing on a regular basis, but i suppose that if one had nice hands of which one took great care, it would be an investment…?
besides which, my kid sister was pleased, especially because she’d gotten me to do something that i’d never done before. to be clear, there was also a hint of gloating on her part, that was definitely linked to her ability to conform to gender/class/sexuality expectations in ways that i simply *don’t*. it is what she uses against me now: at some point, she realized that i am not the norm, and it changed our relationship. my opinions don’t count for nearly as much as they did before she learned that the hair on my underarms would be unacceptable to her friends.
i remember the day she was born.
ah well… she will change too as she ages, and we will see what happens.
in the meantime, i will be glad that i did not completely freak out and she did not get in a snit after we left the nail place, when she made a vaguely racist remark with regards to the manicurists being asian. instead i deflected into a conversation about the universal dangers of fumes in unventilated workplaces, from nail salons to swimming pools to stained glass studios. she is a lifeguard and knows the effects of chlorine: score one point for attempting to bring home our connections to those we construct as The Other!