"And you can't change the past, the time or the weather"

 I don't want to complain about being tired.

But I'm tired.

I didn't get enough sleep.  I don't get enough sleep.

I have the best intentions, I intend to go to be in bed by 9:15 the nights I go out, and 9:45 the nights I do.  But night comes and I want to fuck around on the internet, I don't want to be done with the day.

I've been trying to compile a list of all the books I've ever read and it's comforting in some odd, achievable way.  I might not read as much as I used to, but I remember reading at least 1450 books.  I may not feel like I'm accomplishing things (I am, I am, I am.  I create order, I nurture things (people) both large and small) but I've done this at least. 

I credit libraries with keeping me alive (along with Funnyface and my fear of being a mess/burden), the weight of all these unread books keeping me tethered.    I used to believe the physicality of books I surrounded myself with kept me real, kept me armored.  These days I'm trying to reduce the objects I collect (accrete?) and I'm letting go of more than I bring in, so maybe this list is like recreating this armor, just in a more portable form.

But like the memory game I keep playing on my tablet, it soothes and it is hard to put down.

I need time, time to clean, time to go to Michaels and buy frames, and I need time and energy to think, to make plans for myself, to learn what I want next, what I want out of 40.  and I'm the one overscheduling myself, I'm the one absorbed in foolish games, I'm the one who can't control her own emotions because she doesn't sleep enough and wastes the evening crying when there are so many more interesting, more useful things to be doing. 

I'll reconcile this eventually.  But for the moment, my self care starts with going the fuck to bed.