I went to bed last night at nine peeyem. That's happened maybe three times in my adult life (not counting when I am deathly ill or on another time zone), one of which was whilst camping in Joshua Tree. It was so cold and windy we just said, "Screw it. Let's go to bed."
And when I say I went to bed at nine peeyem, I don't mean I fell asleep on the sofa. That happens rather often. A disco nap or writer's snooze gone bad. No. I mean I intentionally went to my bed, got under the covers with face washed, teeth brushed and flossed, set my alarm and the timer on the TV and dozed off to A&E (there's something soothing in the voices of the crime show narrators). I was out by ten. Ten! Me, whose natural bedtime is two in the morning (which is naturally hampered by having to wake up at six-thirty). This is truly disconcerting because I'm not coming down with anything or adjusting from jetlag, or even doing something more fun. Uh-uh. I was in bed, asleep like a grandma, at ten o'clock on a Thursday night. This just isn't right.
It's times like these I think about going back on the Starbucks. It'll be a year in October that I gave up my daily venti-soy-no-foam lattes -- sometimes up to three daily. I now operate on a single mug of green tea (with heated, unsweetened soymilk spiked with a packet of Stevia). I eat organic (even down to my junk food). But I have skipped a few workouts this week, just because I was so damned tired. It occurred to me this morning that perhaps that was adding to the problem instead of offering a solution.
My morning workouts where my daily stress relievers. An hour plus of lifting weights, treadmill hill climbing, sweating and stretching, and feeling so good when it's over. I thought I was doing myself a favor by not "pushing" myself so hard, giving myself a quiet morning when I needed it, to write if I was inspired. Now I realize the disservice I've done. It's too late to go now. Another full day. The weekend is also packed. But Monday, bloody Monday, I'll be back at it. Whether I'm feeling like it or not. Because I feel like merde warmed over without that little adrenalin jolt. I have less energy without it, not more. God, that's so annoying.
If I woke up feeling refreshed and energized after last night's granny nap, I wouldn't be bitching. I've been up for an hour and a half and am still yawning. I'm zapped. Stress, I guess. Who knows. And don't you dare say it age. I put the kibosh on that. No. I'm just worn out. Nubby. Overdue for a vacation, or at least a massage. I'll put that on the to-do list: Take care of me.