You what a super fun place to be in your life is? Relating to the Narrator from Fight Club. Watching Fight Club a few times. Listening to podcasts about Fight Club. Reading Fight Club. Not because you relate to having an imaginary friend that is the personification of the hot to crazy ratio, but because your sleep deprivation is getting pretty out of hand, and you’re wondering how long until you start posing at coping groups.
Literally no idea, thank you sooooo much.
I wasn’t sleep deprived because I was losing meaning in my consumerist, corporate life style. Far from it. The ball got rolling when my apartment was being shown nearly every day I had a shift; which meant waking up 2 hours earlier than normal. AND I couldn’t fall asleep because I was worried I’d miss my alarm and my landlord would show a very nice couple into the main bedroom with my passed out self poking out from under the duvet. Add on to the stress heap, trying to keep the apartment super clean and super cute, all-the-fucking-time.
So it was half a bottle of wine to fall asleep, 2 quadruple espressos to wake up. Always 3 steps behind on my charting. Not being able to string together two sentences during shift change. I felt like I was losing my damn mind. It all came to a head with what I think was a panic attack, but like, I’ve never had a panic attack before, so I’m not sure. My stress belly was as tight as a drum, I could pass for 5 months preggers from stuffing it with margarita mix and Lean Cuisines, and my sinuses were closed off because of seasons ch-ch-ch-ch-changin’. I finally was just like…I need to go to a doctor. I need to GET a doctor.
I chose my doc after researching years of practice, prescribing patterns, patient reviews, and area of expertise. Kidding, I found a guy under 50, who I could schedule online, and could see me within the week. Long story short he wanted to check my thyroid and send me for a slept study. Because learning how to sleep with my eyes open at work was not going to happen and nearly bouncing off a guard rail driving on 2 hours of REM…I was like: yes, probably good.
Dream skill right here
I still felt like a garbage heap. I hate the concepts of cleanses and “detoxing”, because they’re all bullshit, but I needed to re-calibrate. So I have reluctantly decided to have a 2 week “reset”, I “started doing yoga”, and “abstained from alcohol”. Going from the Narrator to Namaste.
First off, making my self go outside and see the fucking sun once a day is a start. Instead of downing my quad espresso in my kitchen hunched over Instagram, I was relaxing on my porch downing my quad espresso leisurely scrolling Instagram. The no alcohol concept came to me after sticking to lemon and water at a happy hour because it was the first time interacting with humans that weren’t co workers and parents in a hot minute. I was like “Meh, this isn’t too bad. And I’m still having a lot of fun”. Then I just didn’t get around to having a beer on Memorial Day (how v unpatriotic of me, I know). Having a Florida trip in 2 and half weeks and a fuck ton to do in the mean time, I was just like “k, no booze ’til Florida”.
I wasn’t making it to my beloved Zumba (the Jazzercise of our generation) thanks to the fucked up sleep schedule, but needed something I could do. Taking time on my porch turned into walking in my neighborhood. Then yoga happened. Thank fuck for Pinterest and YouTube (not just for make up tutorials and animals videos to my shock and awe). I have done yoga in the past but now I could barely touch my toes and downward facing dog was a challenge. A week went by and I’m chaturanga dandansana-ing like a mutha fucka. Switchin’ it up between Vinyasa, bed time flows, and “Detox” (still hate that word, but good for a de-puff and gettin’ the gut to do the damn thang) I’m feelin’ better.
I’m not about to post any mat time on the ‘Gram. Not that thirsty, and frankly not that skilled. But I’m not locked into an hour class, I can chose the sweat level, and can deal with the people that think that hospital means “Hilton Double Tree” with all these fucking endorphines and zen shit.
The best thing about taking a stroll in my hood or rollin’ out in my living room is that it’s fucking free. Doing some research, I’m not about to shell out the money that’s required to have someone twice my age and twice as fit “correcting” me while I’m holding Warrior 3 in 80 degree heat. That being said, I’m trying out my first “suggested donation” (free) class this weekend.
Can we keep it going for the air quotes, please?
I didn’t wake up from one of those hangover that have us like “I’m never drinking again. I’ll eat baby carrots and hummus and start doing yoga and drink pressed green juice.” No. I tried something, it worked. Then I tried another thing, and I liked it. Everything else in my life was whipping me around like Willow’s hair. I needed a little me time that also may or may not help me feel a little better in a pair of shorts. As much as I love Fight Club and could watch Edward Norton and Brad Pitt locked in a psycho homoerotic anarchist conflict on the weekly, it was all getting a little close for comfort. This is working for me and I’m looking forward to a glass of champs and shramps with a beach front view. You gotta shake it up when you start relating to “I am Jill’s left nipple” more than “YAS KWEEN”.
Give me a follow on Instagram @emilymsisco.
Stay Fabulous. Stay Weird.