Psychological Aversions and Duck Lips

About once a month, I suffer what I like to call a psychological aversion to sleep. And by “I”, I really mean a former therapist who put those words together and made my plight sound medical or scientific and a little legitimate. Like, “hey I’m actually going through a thing right now and my brain is more or less ruining my life and it affects me on a really deep level, man.” Sounds cooler than insomnia.

No offense if you suffer from insomnia. I’m sure your thing is just as deep as my thing.

I can’t really say from where it stems every time it pops up in my life; or I could if I were willing to actually sit down and think about it, but crummy situations are way more fun if you just suffer through them instead of finding the root cause and fixing the broken. I’d say most of it is my fun brain, my bum hip, my currently bum toe (UPDATE: it isn’t broken. Just jammed, which they say is a lot better, but “they’re” not walking around in the dead of winter, wearing nothing but Chinese ballet flats because socks/hosiery/other shoes make it worse.), or the fact that every once in awhile, Husband snores in a way I’ve only heard from my late grandfather, who could have probably warded off coyotes, bears, or any other manner of predatory animal with his sleeping patterns.

I just tried to take a discreet photo of Husband but the flash went off and now he’s not happy, what with it being almost 2:00 am.

But back to my aversion. It’s not simply a matter of not being able to sleep or turn off my brain or a desire to be productive (I assure you, nothing is ever the product of my wanting to be productive) — I don’t want to get into bed, I don’t want to close my eyes, I don’t want to stop challenging strangers at SongPop, and I most certainly don’t want to do anything that is even remotely like sleep.

Which is really weird, when you think about it, because the only thing I like as much as food Husband is sleep. Usually anyhow.

So things get kind of bizarre. I watch paid programming. I look random things up on the internet that are neither important nor interesting to me. Sometimes I have a tendency to purchase things off Amazon. Tonight, this happened:

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First of all, the beanie is actually in place of my now totally defunct headband that deftly kept my mane-like locks out of my face as I got ready for bed. And then I just didn’t really take it off. I painted my fingernails tonight (sometimes the fumes make me tired, sometimes they make me want to become a nail artist). I played as many SongPop games as I was allowed and opponents were awake (thanks a lot, Jonathan, for ditching me when things were getting good), but of course I didn’t want to wake Husband, so headphones were necessary. Under the beanie.

And then — and clearly this is the most tragic — I took a photo of it and posted it on the Internet. Twice. You reach a real low point, people, when you’re nearly 29 and you’re posting bathroom selfies online at 2:00 am.

But in my defense … at least there aren’t any duck lips. Doesn’t mean I didn’t consider them. But I abstained just for you.

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