The Fiance thinks I have mono.
I tell him that mono is about more than being exhausted all the time, and he grudgingly admits this is true, but he glares at me, insisting that there was a day when I wasn’t tired all the time: he remembers and misses it.
Looking back, I have to say he’s got a point. It was not uncommon, back when I was first dating him, for me to stay up all night Thursday (writing papers) go to class and chapel and class again all day Friday, and then walk all the way back across campus to my apartment just in time to change before he picked me up for an afternoon with his family and then a night playing video games and talking with him until after 3 in the morning, at which point he’d drive me back home. Often, I’d stay up for another hour or so, eating chocolate and perhaps writing before I’d actually climb in bed.
I went to bed at 6 PM last night. It seems strange for a young woman to not make it until at least ten, but there you have it. Six. In bed. Sleeping.
It was pretty great.
No, I’m serious. Being tired all the time doesn’t really bother me. It just gives me an excuse to sleep. Sleep. All. The. Time. I don’t mean the “My life is a void/I have nothing to do/return to me sun, I’m depressed/other sum such miserable feeling” sleep: I mean that no matter how happy I am, sleep makes life even better.
There are very few of your average problems that can’t be fixed by a good night’s rest. I used to have teary breakdowns the night before exams. I’d be pacing my room, flipping pages, bemoaning my lack of study and how dirty the room was and how I hadn’t packed for Thanksgiving vacation and–and–and–and–!
Them my neighbor would show up, watch me for while, and take the book from me. “How long has it been since you slept?”
“Umm…” I’d begin, sniffling. “A long time?”
“Go to bed. Now.” She’d raise her eyebrows in a manner that was, in my sleep-deprived state, quite terrifying. And I’d do as she suggested.
The next day, somehow, all would be right with the world. I could tackle problems that had, the night before, seemed insurmountable. It’s something I noticed again and again, and so, now, I try to pay attention to my body’s pleas for sleep.
I figure that, to some degree, it knows what it needs. If, for some reason, my body decides sleep is a priority just behind work and eating, fine. It’s cold. It’s dreary. Work is more annoying than usual.
But sleep? Sleep is always a pleasure, always rewarding, always one of the best parts of the day.
So is the Fiance, of course. But sleep? Not a bad companion, when the Fiance’s off working.
I hear it calling me now . . .
Two minutes to nine. Gosh, it’s late you guys.