Lately I have not been sleeping well. My bed at night seems to have become the Land of Thrashing and Itching. No matter how cold I am when I retire, I end up being weirdly sweaty-hot at some point in the wee hours. This is after a fair amount of existential mind racing and a heaping portion of allergy-induced mouth itching. It has not been good. I wake to the alarm feeling battered and depressed. Today is Sunday, which means that theoretically I was allowed to sleep as late as I wanted to this morning. And I did. It's just that even though I didn't get up until after 10:00, I still felt peevish and unrested.
I took a quasi-nap on the couch at about 12:30, but felt ridiculous and wasteful since the sun was out (rejoice! rejoice!), so I got up anad went out for a few hours to do errands. I came back, ate a late lunch, and felt...like a zombie. And so at 4:30, I decided to commit to a real nap. I shed my clothes and got in bed. And woke up about ten minutes ago. Which means that I was pretty much out cold for three hours. Oh. Oops. So I wasn't kind of sleepy so much as crazy tired. Now I know.
This means that my only real accomplishment of the day was getting a pedicure, which I realize is unimpressive. However, my toes are now emblazoned with a red laquer called "I'm Not Really a Waitress." In my case, I'm really, really not a waitress. And yet, I have every faith it will work equally well as "I'm Not Really a Secretary," which, in conjunction with my fresh haircut and red dress, should arm me well for my 20-year high school reunion next weekend. I'm hoping to project unmarried and childless as "glamorous" rather than "pitiable." And honestly? What with the flowers on my table, the champagne that accompanied my lunch, and the unscheduled three-hour nap, it actually does feel pretty glamorous.