Lucky

I only got three hours of sleep last night. It would have only been two, but I showed up an hour late (I warned the bosses that I might).

Here's the thing: it's okay. It's great. I only got three hours and it's fabulous and wonderful.

I was not up crying. I was not up doing unhealthy coping strategies. I was not up drunk and sad. I was not up from the nightmares. I was not up because I couldn't sleep.

I was up because I had a friend to pick up at the airport two hours away. I was up because I had a friend who could count on me to pick her girlfriend up at the airport two hours away. I was up because I had a great car ride with a great friend, listening to music and talking. I was up because I went over to Jessa's house when I got in even though it was 3:15am when we finally arrived in Columbia. I was up because I was making love to an amazing woman who thinks I'm amazing back. I was up because we held each other afterwards, out of breath and sweaty, kissing. I was up because we fell asleep in each others arms, naked, after giving and receiving the compliments I'm too scared to hear or say at any other time.

After so many sleepless or nearly sleepless nights because of so much pain and an inability to sleep, it's now wonderful to be tired because my life is full. It's not empty. God. I'm tired because I'm busy doing things that make me happy, not because I'm sad that I don't have anything to do. (And it was never just that I didn't have anything to do, but that was a symptom of the problems.)

I'm extremely lucky. Even through the delirium, I'm working really hard on not taking that for granted.