I can’t sleep.
Again
Sure, I’m tired, I need to sleep, but I can’t. Instead I toss and turn until I finally give in and go read news online, play games or something.
I took zzzquil, it made me sleepy. I went to bed with my beautiful wife. She fell asleep. I tossed and turned, now, here I am with you.
What helps you sleep? What do you do when a tiring day comes to an end, but you still can’t nod off?
Went walking with the wife yesterday. We didn’t walk too much, only about 4.5 miles.
So short a walk resulted in a ton of pain for me!
We have walked over 6 miles without me having this, in the early spring when we were at Disneyworld.
So I don’t know why I’m having sooooooooo much pain today!
Whiny Britt!
In New Hampshire there is a mountain trail that we used to call Idiot’s Alley. It was maybe 2-2.3 miles long, but in that distance you rose maybe 4000 feet. So, it was steep.
As a man in my 20’s, with no real amount of training, I have climbed up that trail several times, each time it took several hours to climb, but getting to the top, making camp, looking out over the White Mountains, sweaty and hot. It was beautiful.
No big deal. Sweaty, yes. Tired, yes. Sore, limping for days afterward, in pain all over my body, shoulders, back, legs, feet? No.
Today I am not even a pale shadow of that man that I was then.
Back then I was probably more of an ass than I am now... maybe the same amount but in different ways, you tell me.
But today, when I awaken in the middle of the night with pains all over from simply sleeping wrong, and this happens every night and lasts for days or weeks, limping is almost constant.
I may walk, seeing a new sight with my lady love beside me these days. On flat terrain, for not very far, and still, that lead to days of pain. Days of limping. I still want to go, want to see, want to enjoy, but each time leads to another bought of pain.
Maybe better walking shoes?
I think how cruel aging is. Sure, it beats the alternative.
My dreams are always ‘different’!
I’m at home, on a different version of Cape Cod, rebuilding my old 1984 Camaro Z28. It’s got tons of horsepower, but still it also finds plenty of traction on sand. I take it for a drive on a wet roadway, and while my rear traction control keeps going in and out, I still maintain traction. I watch as someone in a very powerful Mustang spins out of control, backwards, down a side road. My brother tells me to be careful that I don’t spin out of control and hit that other car.
We go around a corner and there is an entrance to the Cape Cod Rail Trail, which now extends from one end of the Cape to the other, much like present day route 6.
It is an exit to the left and a sharp hairpin to get on to it, but all art cars are allowed, and my Z28,for some reason, counts as an art car.
An old challenger, colored that shade of purple called Plum Crazy, takes the left, and via its extreme amount of power, spins down the sand dune covered road, the road is covered by drifting sands. I make the left and maintain control, but must stay to the right as another art car, a sky blue and white amphicar, with a camper back is driving down the road toward me... I am about to pull into the left lane when, from atop the hill behind, comes another art installation, two men, one in a costume with legs, pulling another, this in a costume making him a giant merman, come walking down the road (I guess pedestrians have right of way in this dream!), they pass me by and suddenly, the merman shouts, “There, there’s what I need! Salt!” And flops off a sand cliff to land in the sand 30 feet below, where a stationary art exhibit of people carving sculptures out of huge rock salt crystals stands, complete with Gypsy caravans for them to live in!
The people, naked, wearing body paint depicting them as wearing ragged shoes, barely there shorts and exaggerating the size of their moths and teeth, welcome him and their Gypsy leader, Madame Something or other, gives him a small salt crystal, telling him he owes her nothing, but must make a small donation at a donation site at the end of the Cape and must take no receipt for the donation.
He, devishly, responds, “Yeah,”, sarcasm dripping from his voice, she repeats that she is serious!
He leaves.
I leave and awaken.
Strange, huh?
about average for me. If I could paint, i’d Paint the imagery in my mind, it was fantastic!
