20190618.0430

I've posted in this webspace on 18 June in 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2018. The first of them attracts my interest most; it voices a complaint I still feel. Tired as I often find myself--and I do often find myself tired--I am still not fond of having to sleep. It is still the case that I'd not do it if I could get away without, and it is still the case that I am vexed by the biological necessity of sleep. There are better things for me to do abed, and there are more things to do than I have time in the day to do, even absent having to spend between a quarter and a third of each day unconscious while my body repairs itself and my mind works in ways I almost never remember upon waking.
Most of what I wrote five years ago remains true; I don't much need to rehash it, since it can still be read easily. I can add, though, that I have some idea how Ms. 8 feels about the matter--and she is clearly her mother's daughter in that regard. (In most, she seems to take after me at this point. I'm not sure how good a thing that is. I've noted before, and not a few times, that I was a little shit as a kid; Ms. 8 taking after me may not be to her benefit or her parents' comfort.) Getting her up and out of bed on weekdays is not a small task, just as getting her to bed is a challenge. ("Gee, I wonder if the two are somehow related," he comments acerbically.) The juxtaposition is strange to me; she clearly likes her bed, but she hates going to it.
In any event, however much I may resent the fact that I have to sleep, I have to do so. Even as I write this, I am aware of my body being tired, and I am aware of how that tiredness is interfering between my mind and what I want to make happen. I am able to form cogent thoughts, but getting my hands to put them where others can see them is more challenging, and getting my body to set aside its various discomforts so that I am not distracted in doing so is not as easy as it have been at other times. Normally, I am able to press ahead despite my sciatica acting up or the thermostat being set too low or too high; now, I keep having to pause as I type to rub my eyes or shift in my seat so that the tightness running from my kidney down past the back of my knee doesn't edge into pain. And I have to change form to from and from to form more often than I would prefer, because my fingers will not coordinate smoothly.
Resentful as I am, maybe I ought, indeed, to go take a nap.