Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Guilty Sleep

Several people have spoken to me recently about reading my blog. What a lovely compliment and what a huge responsibility! I always feel the pressure of not writing in “Down Memory Lane” enough, but when I know people read it, the pressure mounts. So I am going to try to write more frequently. Have I said that before? I can’t remember …

These days, I can hardly drag myself out of bed in the morning, a consequence of my lupus acting up or “flaring” as we professional lupins like to call it. The desperate need to stay in bed and sleep all morning despite getting a good night’s sleep is exactly the reason I no longer work. Knowing that does not alleviate my frustration at losing so much productive time each day or, interestingly, my guilt about it.

When friends and family call and wake me up after 8:00 AM, I usually pretend I was not sleeping.

“Did I wake you?” someone asks when I finally manage to locate and pick up the telephone from a dead sleep.

“Oh, no,” I reply, “you didn’t wake me. Been up for hours. Michael and Tori leave so early, you know.”

Then I yawn, which probably gives it away, but people are nice enough not to say anything. Why the feelings of guilt? I wish I knew.

It is the same thing with using handicapped parking. I am legal – license plate and all – and I use it because of the joint pain I experience when I’m on my feet for long or when I walk, which means that if I feel okay going into the grocery store, for example, I will NOT feel okay coming out of it. But I don’t look sick and I always feel as if people are giving me the fish eye as I walk away from my handicapped parking spot. Sometimes, when I feel great, I don’t park in the handicapped zones and then I feel guilty because I am taking up a parking space that a non-handicapped person could use.

This guilt thing is very tricky. Perhaps I just feel guilty and then look for things to attach my guilt to. What about you, dear reader? What crazy thing do you feel guilty about? I can’t be the only one.


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