If bad writing can be a prelude to better writing, even within the space of a day, then perhaps trying to order my thoughts onto a page will help me complete my classwork behind schedule.
I'm so tired. I keep waking up in the middle of the night without even knowing why. I can't sleep well, which keeps me from being awake well.
I'll turn on the TV for a weather report, and realise hours later that it's still on and that I hate the current show, but have been watching it for fifteen minutes anyway. It's getting a little scary. I know there's more important things for me to do, but that same realisation is another garrote around my temples, trying to squeeze my brains out.
I've been cutting back on the caffeine. It's probably bad timing, but it was making me jumpy rather than alert anyway. If it won't help there's no point in downing more. I still have a daily Coke just to force my brain to wake up somewhat. Without it, I crawl back into bed and sleep several more hours. As it stands, I've been sleeping ten or eleven hours a night. That figure includes waking up with a jolt, rolling over, and going back to sleep; I don't know how long that takes each time it happens.
It's probably the depression, which I hate to even think, but there it is. I've been crying at least once a day, up to three or four times a day, and it's getting pathetic. I've been trying to tell myself it's stress from class and from caffeine withdrawal, but even I'm not sure I buy that.
I was doing fine until last week. I'd been studying in my mom's basement that afternoon, for her home is quiet and her sofas comfy. I found out that evening that my dad had been there to pay his half of my brother's college expenses.
He didn't even come down and say hi to me. He parked right next to my car, and I am dead certain that he knows it is my car. He knew I was there. And he didn't care. I didn't warrant a hug, or a "How have you been?" or even just a "Hey." For God's sake, when he had a dog, he would greet the dog every time he came by. I don't get the courtesy he gives a pet. (Dogs are good people, but a daughter still ought to rank higher than a pet.)
I love my daddy. He means the world to me. I also have a strong desire to beat him into next month. I think these emotions would make sense to anyone who knows him.
Maybe he didn't want to wander someone else's house to find me. I can understand that. What bothers me is that he didn't even ask if he could. The thought didn't seem to occur to him. I didn't occur to him. He wasn't trying to hurt my feelings, I know that, but I'm sick of walking tiptoe around people who "didn't mean to." They keep hurting me anyway, and their lack of malice doesn't make it hurt any less.
He could have at least said to my mom, "Tell her hi for me," even if he was in a hurry -- which he wasn't. He had time for coffee and everything.