Oh, insomnia, why are you so cruel? I was in bed on time and everything! And after three hours, sleep continues to elude me. Blah.
I’ve been doing a good job at maintaining some good habits, such as making my bed every morning, and adding doing the dishes, getting breakfast and lunch ready, and picking out an outfit to my evening routine. It feels good to get into a made bed every night. Vulgarity aside, Unfuck Your Habitat has changed my life, one terrifying motivational threat at a time. And, as I told my therapist the other day, swearing is a way for me to take back the words that terrified me as a child and take away their power.
There is still an ongoing battle with bedbugs. I found a pheremone trap that I’ll be ordering a billion of once payday happens, and I’ll recommend getting them for the company vehicles, as well. If there’s only one or two bedbugs in the car due to hitchhiking on a client, hopefully they’ll seek out the trap before hopping onto the case manager. I’ll be putting some in my bed, in the couches, and in my car. It’ll definitely bring down some of my anxiety, though this round has been a lot less traumatic. I feel a bit like Henri the existential cat about it, to be honest, and am mostly ignoring it. The smell of rubbing alcohol still leads to a panic attack, but if I spray it before going about the rest of my nightly routine and vent the room, as well as spray my favorite Febreeze scent on top, it’s a lot less anxiety-inducing.
It’s two AM, and my very cuddly, warm cat keeps following me from room to room, wondering when we’re going to finally *stay* in bed. Poor beastie. She’s starting to get into a nightly routine too, and will fuss at me if I’m not heading for bed on time. I sort of wish she’d fuss in the morning, though. I should start feeding her in the morning, that’d be a good way to do it. After all, there’s no snooze button on a cat that wants breakfast.