This will probably be a disjointed ramble, but...

I still don't understand the sleep thing. Not entirely. Well, I sort of do, but... I don't know enough about myself to be sure... I'll leave it at that. I really thought tonight/ this morning would be the night/ morning that I would go to sleep earlier than usual. I really did. I was so sleepy. Still - something inside refuses to let it happen until morning. I felt okay this time. Sort of. I mean I felt okay, but I could feel the crying place just enough to know that it was there even though I was not really experiencing it. The crying was inside only, and it was on the down-low, but I still felt traces of it bleeding through to me and I felt its gravity making it difficult to move. I'm supposed to "be okay" with that. You know, the whole 'be okay with not being okay' thing. I won't think about that too much, though, because it will make me hate my therapist and everyone else's therapist, too, and I'm frankly too tired. Besides, I like my therapist again. Yeah, I know I'm fickle, but right now I like him.

I have been having a problem with weekends. I've noticed before, but believed it to be a coincidence. My husband finally noticed. The therapist gets it, too. Of course he does. He very often gets some kind of crazy hysterical phone call from me sometime between Friday morning and Saturday evening. And now I feel bad for saying that thinking too hard about being okay with not being okay might make me hate him. It seems a mean thing to say about someone who takes all those screaming phone calls and kindly helps the nearly insane woman who placed them (no - not me - some fucked up facsimile). I know he is busy this weekend, so I'm on my best behavior and my third beer.

I feel a pressing need to be okay because I worry that my mother will show up here on Sunday to bring Easter baskets to my children. I don't like my mother. She does it every Easter. I don't want her here. She's weird and she annoys me. And she will probably show up while I am still sleeping and go back and tell the rest of the family what a lazy bum I am sleeping my life away. What she doesn't get, is that I don't get any more than seven or so hours of sleep out of twenty four. I have to take them at a bizarre time to avoid having the nightmares that have the ability to destroy my sanity for weeks on end. I have to do this because I was 'raised' by a violent pervert and a woman who hated me and told me I was crazy and that everything was in my imagination. I don't want her in my house.

That is all.