Payday

       We got groceries today. And my family surprised me with three birthday presents; my very own bottle of Parmesan powder, to which I may be addicted, a new purse, and fuzzy pants that are indes-cribably soft and fit me like a glove...albeit in a very weird place.

      I'm feeling better, I think. Overall. I think sleep is the problem. No, scratch that. I think trying to sleep, but staying awake instead is the problem. I was hardly socializing before, even with the people I live with. There were literally days where I'd come out of my room, and they'd greet me with, "Good evening! Goodnight."

      Apparently eight hours of sleep each night is recommended. I've been prioritizing sleep because of my insomnia. Twelve hours, no matter when I go to bed, even if it's eight in the morning, even if it's just crying the whole time. But I think I'm going to restrict myself to as little sleep as fucking possible. Stay awake for three days, sleep for three hours. I did that last night and had an amazing sleep. I'm not even bitchy! I'm not yelling and slamming things for no fucking reason whatsoever. That's good! I ruin so many things, and I don't want my family to be one of them. I think I'm sharper when I'm sleep-deprived, and not all moody over my latest crippling nightmare.

      I'm also sharper when I'm sick. Not like I ever want to be; I'm not going to go out and intentionally catch something, but I do seem to think clearer. It's weird. I'm weird. But the day I'm sleep-deprived and ill, I'm going to try something I'm loath to do...math. Maybe my book will go better!

      Or I'm crazy. Or I'm kidding! Ah, who knows anymore? Who cares? All I know is, I've stopped trying to convince myself that I never need to socialize. Maybe all loners are kidding themselves.