Yesterday I really felt I had completely recovered from my surgery and blood clots.  I woke up from a lovely night’s sleep ready for the day.  My fingernails were much pinker than they have been in years.  I had a surprising amount of energy, which I used to clean my kitchen – rather violently ripping things out of cupboards and wiping down shelves, scrubbing at the floor, washing dishes and packing up cookies for my collegiate sister.  I also worked furiously on knitting projects during the day – pulling out Christmas present projects and following patterns when I am usually a very simple, free spirited knitter.  I spent time with my brother and his girlfriend, watching tv and playing video games before heading to my parents’ house for dinner. I was sure I was back to my old self.

Last night, the strange and frustrating insomnia struck again – leaving me sitting alone, swathed in blankets, on the great brown couch of our living room.  I was too tired to read, to awake to sleep, only able to watch as our cats played silently together on the floor.  This has become a bit of a disturbing pattern, several nights a week, in fact.  I’ve finished a couple books this way, and am beginning to resort to either Christopher Paolini or Andrew Jackson to lure myself further towards slumber.

Then today came along.  Wind ripping at our house, our covers all a mess from my restless sleep – a huge mountain of comforter, blankets, sheets and pillows.  And still I am tired.  Finding just enough energy to post this blog with my purple tinted fingers.