I seem to have mastered the art of sleep this week.
In the famous words of the orphan Annie last week was AWFUL.
(Actually Annie only referred to yesterday as being “plain awful” but she was 8. If she was 34 she’d naturally be talking about longer periods of time.)
And to be brutally honest there were some massive highs in the last week:
– Meeting, holding and being instantly besotted by a 4 week old bubba.
– A fancy trip to the movies with a kindred spirit.
– A waffle that I shouldn’t have ordered but didn’t regret… initially.
-A weekend away with people who know me too well.
– The perfect satay stir fry and the lightest melt in your mouth roti bread.
– A bike buying and subsequent learning to ride expedition for a lovely soon to be 6 year old.
But mostly this week I have slept.
Tuesday was long and honest and broke me.
Wednesday I slept for 20 hours.
Thursday I pushed myself too hard.
Friday was a disaster culminating in more sleep.
Saturday saw more sleep, bike buying and dinner out.
Sunday I iced a cake, put on a load of washing and went back to bed.
This festival of sleep has been a long time coming. My body has been telling me I needed this for a long time.
It just took my brain shutting down for me to realise it.