I can’t sleep. I think it’s because my feet are freezing. I could lay on a bed made from marshmallows and tits but I wouldn’t fall asleep if my feet were cold. It may also have something to do with the fact that I’m thinking about a million dumb things.
Lots of nights, when I’m in bed, I go over my best/worst case scenarios. 99% of the time the scenarios never happen. They all fall into three, non-intertwining categories: 1) I win the lottery and move to Brooklyn, 2) a friend tells me that I am a horrible person for various reasons, and 3) I am the lead singer of The Smiths. Only the second one is realistic. All of them are stupid things to think about though.
I put on a second pair of socks and yet my feet are still cold. I miss Krista’s electric blanket. I was always afraid I’d get too warm and pee myself and get electrocuted so I used it sparingly, but it kept my feet nice and toasty.
I think I might buy a space heater for my room tomorrow. My bedroom is above the garage, so it’s freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer. For 13 years my dad has been telling me to move the furniture from blocking the vents, but there’s no way to rearrange the room to make that work. I didn’t think of getting a space heater until now. I’m always late to the party.
I’m going to give sleep another go. I just have to clear my mind, or J. Edgar Hoover will come and destroy me.