Malaise

Yesterday was moderately stressful. It took me until 4 a.m. to settle down, and I rose again at 8:30, not fully awake, but with no hope of further rest. I had that stretched, porous feeling from sleeping poorly: like not enough butter to spread on my toast.

How did I survive the severest depression in 1995, never sleeping more than three hours from February until May? More recently, I might go that way for a week before exhaustion overtook anxiety. Now one bad night makes me feel wrecked. It's a vivid reminder how horrible life used to feel, and how far I've come.

The day was a washout. Nothing got done. Again I'm reminded of a time when nothing happened week after week. I didn't go out or see anyone. Considering how active this week has been, I'm not going to beat myself up about one day of total avoidance. And although I felt bleary, cranky and aimless, I know I'll sleep well tonight.

Mom called this evening with the best possible news. Her cancer has not metastasized; there's only a lump in one lymph node. She'll begin treatment next Thursday. The oncologist said it's possible she'll recover completely, again.