It’s 5:30 a.m., and I’ve already been awake for an hour. This has become a common occurrence. I usually toss and turn and spend an hour in hell.
This morning, I’ve already looked up the side effects for my new medication. I’ve worried about what’s causing my knee pain, and lamented the fact that I can’t run. I’ve wondered whether my daughters know exactly what to do in the event of a terror attack at their schools. I’ve tried to think if there’s any place I haven’t looked for the sapphire necklace my husband gave me on our twentieth anniversary (which I managed to lose after only wearing it twice). I’ve replayed the crazy-making and isolation and loneliness of the past two years. My mind has been a million places before I’ve even gotten out of bed.
