Call me masochistic

I'm tired and I'm not feeling well.

And yet I'm still--stupidly--sitting at my computer. Awake. Yeah, I suppose you could call it that.

Why? Why am I still up?

Because I have a meeting with my thesis supervisor at ten a.m. tomorrow and I want--I feel the need--to have something more to show for myself.

Friday night and Saturday were essentially wasted, though I did get a little done. Today was--productive, but not strictly as far as my thesis goes. I got some tidying and organizing done--I felt I had to: one of the rental agents was coming to show the apartment. But the tidying took longer than expected and I'm having the same problems with focusing I've had the past few days.

The difficulty focusing--it's symptomatic of something else. I know this. I know this because it hasn't just been the past few days.

My mother has asked me to see someone, but I can't bring myself to. I've told her that this is obviously something I'm going to have to live with for the rest of my life and--since I won't always be able to afford therapy/counselling/whatever--I had best learn to deal with it on my own.

I will not go on medication again. I hated how it made me feel. So I have to find other ways to cope.

Sleep always works. Too bad I don't sleep well when I'm here. As much as I love my apartment, I just haven't been sleeping well here. Part of it--the part I'm sure of--is the heat: we can't actually control the temperature of our apartment--there's no thermostat in here. The building manager regulates the heat. And in a building full of senior citizens with poor circulation, you can bet that heat will be well above ideal temperatures for sleep (16 to 18 degrees Celsius).

The other part? I dunno? Anxiety, maybe? Afraid that I'll over-sleep? Worried that I should be working instead of sleeping? That I'm letting people--or worse: myself!--down?!

Maybe. Maybe that's part of it.

Again, what I do know for sure is that Reading Week saw me get the best sleep I've had in months. Not-at-all-coincidentally, it also saw me in the best, most consistent mood I've been in for a while.

So, knowing all of this, why am I still up? Why have I not at least tried to lie down for a while?

Because I made a promise to myself--a promise to be productive. And three-plus pages just isn't enough when you were aiming to write at least ten this weekend. I'm trying not to think of all the reading I still have to do.

This is a vicious cycle. I know this. And yet I can't stop.