On Being Tired

Exhaustion is a hell of a feeling.

One minute I’m resting quietly in bed, the next, my alarm is screaming in my ears, searching for a reprieve from its daily duty as an arbiter of restlessness.

I woke up feeling exhausted today. And while the symptom is likely from me smoking too much pot last night (a habit that has been running pretty strong lately), there’s another sense of tiredness there as well. It’s sitting next to the THC hangover and grogginess.

The feeling is like I haven’t slept in days, and yet my body is energized and ready to move freely. I wouldn’t consider this sensation burnout, as obviously, here I am again writing my empty thoughts out. But it’s definitely akin to that sensation. It could be that the seasonal shift has me feeling extra worn out. Not to mention this past year has been an exhausting one. 

From being understaffed at work, to busy all summer long, to quitting and starting again, to now flying full tilt into winter-soon-to-be-spring, and writing, and poetry, and being a social butterfly, and work overall, and open mic nights, and poetry submissions, and work events, and better sex, and even better food, and drama. Life has been busy.

It feels like these past few months, I’ve been riding on a runaway train of action and activity. Which don’t get me wrong, has been a gay ol’ time. But I’m ready to pull up to a station and take a quick break. I need some solid rest. I know I need to put the cell phone down for a bit.

And I need to just do nothing for a few days, or maybe a week.

I don’t want to be around anyone.

I just want to shut off all of my devices and hide in a hole for a while. I’m pretty sure I’ve been describing the urge to hibernate, but alas, tis true. I wish I could stuff my guts without thinking about how my body will gain weight and change.

I want to be semi-feral, a snarling biting creature, whom when poked and prodded by wandering eyes has the ability and power to slash the hand that reaches for her.

I want my muzzle to be sweet, in that disarming way, but I want my teeth sharp and my breath rancid with rotten flesh.

I want to be a monster. 

I want to sleep for an entire day straight.