Questionable Life Choices: Powered by Sleep Aids and Coffee
Last night I tried to sleep, but the sweet slumber would not take me. I tossed and turned, shifted from my recliner to my wooden platform, then back again—chasing comfort like a mirage. The day’s events looped in my head like a movie stuck on repeat. Why am I like this? I whispered to myself.
In desperation, I reached for a sleep aid, hoping for a forced surrender to dreams. But even then, the enchanted calm continued to elude me. I would catch just a glimpse—a flicker of hope—and then it vanished, leaving me awake again in the shadows of night.
The dogs, thoroughly over my restless routine, huffed and puffed with every squirm. Once Freya finally surrendered to her dreams, her little paws trembled as if running. I could only imagine her joy—tongue lolling out, chasing after some chubby-cheeked raccoon with all the delight of a pup who knows no limits. The thought made me smile.
And in that moment, as I looked down at them, I realized how lucky I am to be loved so unconditionally. Pets are truly our emotional saviors—the quiet guardians of our hearts.
Time slipped away unnoticed until the dreaded alarm broke the night’s spell. I rose in a haze, still caught between realms—the weight of wakefulness pulling me forward while fragments of slumber clung like mist around me.
Hunched over and squint-eyed, I shuffled to the blessed coffee machine, desperate for a cup of sweet caffeinated bliss. If I couldn’t sleep, then I needed to wake up. I had work to face today, whether my body agreed or not. Was the combination of a sleep aid and coffee a terrible idea? Absolutely. Did I care? Not even a little. I pressed the button, let the machine do its magic, and welcomed the first sip like a life raft in the storm.
Now to the daily routine: feed the babies, potty break, and shower. In my mind, I chanted to myself, you can do this, you can do this—but my body creaked and cracked with every movement, my head swimming. Thank you cruel world and parental genetics for this impossible disease. Just push through, I told myself.
Freya spilled over with joy and excitement, ready to run laps around her pen without a care in the world. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the energy to match her spirit, and a wave of guilt washed over me. These poor babies haven’t gotten the exercise they deserve because my body has been sick. But as I silently scolded myself for those intrusive thoughts, I reminded myself: they’re happy just to be with me. Once I’m well, they’ll get the adventure and play they deserve. Move forward, I whispered.
I decided my work calendar could make room for a late start so I could sit under the blessed hot water. Although, let’s be real—this hot water tank has got to go. It’s lukewarm at best, and I want scalding, skin-turning-bright-red kind of hot. Or maybe I need a portable Jacuzzi—now that I could get behind. Just gotta lose a little weight first, and then we’ll talk.
I shot my boss lady a quick text, confessing to my “lazy late start,” then set the machine to brew a second cup of survival. Coffee in one hand, shower running, I claimed my little throne: a shower chair. Yes, coffee and shower together. Weird? Maybe. Weirder that I do it sitting down like a queen on her porcelain throne? Probably. Do I care? Not at all. My body is old, my soul is tired, and my spirit needs that comfort. Don’t judge me.
As I sat in the shower letting the hot water wash away my pain, my mind drifted to the conversation I’d had with my friend and my sister the night before. They’re coming out Saturday to spend the day and night. It’ll be a tight squeeze for all of us, but we can make it work with a few air mattresses. Too bad the swamp cooler won’t be here in time—that would’ve been perfect for hanging out in the gazebo. We all know my sister isn’t about to sit out in the heat, and honestly? Neither am I.
It’ll be nice to have some company and chat with real humans who don’t come from Zoom or Teams calls. I adore my work friends, but having a conversation that isn’t about deadlines or spreadsheets? Now that’s the dream. They’re bringing board games, and since two of us are ridiculously competitive, my sister will no doubt get annoyed. Which, let’s be honest, makes it infinitely more fun. As the big sister, it is literally my duty to drive her crazy and pick on her. I don’t make the rules—that’s just the sacred sibling code of conduct.
The shower didn’t hit the way I hoped. When I got out to dress, I could still feel every vertebra in my neck and back, and my hands ached like they’d been working in a factory for fifty years. But the show must go on. No sense in throwing myself a pity party when there’s no cake or balloons. Time to pull up the big girl panties, make another cup of blissed caffeine, and drag myself into the workday. Yes, yes, I know I need to drink water—I will. But right now? I’m clutching my coffee like it’s liquid gold and I’m some half-crazed prospector in the Wild West. My brain drifts off—why am I like this? Focus, I scold myself.
Of course, I could hear both my Auntie and Mooma scolding me in my head—“Drink your water, you have to take care of yourself!” So with guilt as my motivator, I made myself a cup of water, sighed like a martyr, and then finally logged in for the day.
The day seemed to slowly tick away as I worked on documents and calendar invites. Normally, I’m a whiz and can fly through these tasks while multitasking like a circus act. But today? I couldn’t find a rhythm, couldn’t spark a drive. My head swam, my body ached, and every bone begged me to message the boss lady and tap out. But we’re all stressed. There’s too much to do. It wouldn’t feel right to bail, so I kept plunking away at the mundane, fantasizing about the sweet relief of the workday ending—when I could finally close my eyes and escape.
That is, until I remembered the water leak outside. Lowe’s is apparently my new after-work date spot, where I’ll be wandering the aisles pretending I know what I’m doing while side-eyeing the plumbing section like it holds ancient secrets. Plumber’s tape? Yeah, that betrayal still stings. Add some bolts for the dogs’ lead so I don’t have to play human fence post while they’re in their pen—call it lazy, I call it efficient. This is the tricky part about being on my own: every little thing lands on my shoulders. But hey, I’ll slap on a smile, grab a cart, and play the part of “confident handywoman” even if I’m really just winging it and get lost just thinking about the hardware store. Fake it ‘til you make it.
Work finished and I was the responsible adult and made myself dinner. At first I had no interest the thought of food made me gag a little, but I knew I should eat. As the food cooked and the different aromas of beef, cilantro, peppers, onion, and garlic wafted in my face (yes, Auntie and Mooma, I know you’re already saying, “you can’t have that”), my stomach growled and suddenly I was ravenous. I devoured my Latin sweet potato with crème and jalapeño salsa and loved my life for those few tasty bites of joy that didn’t cost me a million calories.
Lowe’s? Yeah, that became a problem for another day. Instead, I shut off the water to ease the guilt of waste and took the dogs outside to their pen to watch the world. The storms had left behind a whisper of coolness, and for once it didn’t feel like the depths of hell outside. The dogs sniffed, stomped, and rustled through pine needles and pinecones, checking every scent like tiny detectives. And then it happened—they lost their damn minds. Barking, growling, hackles up, and snarling like little beasts.
I zapped, and they only slightly cared. But hey, progress is progress. Two months ago, they would’ve dragged me across the dirt to go play. This time? They stayed in a sit and went to place when I told them, even though they whined like toddlers being told “no” at the candy aisle. I don’t know what that other dog did to deserve the fury—dirty look, peed in their favorite sniff spot, maybe stuck his tongue out—but my two were absolutely over it.
And that’s the thing about these messy trails—two steps forward, five steps back, but always moving.
Lessons of the Day
Sleep aids + coffee = questionable life choices.
Dogs live their best lives chasing dream raccoons.
Coffee is basically emotional support in a mug.
Shower chairs are thrones, and with coffee in hand I’m basically royalty—judge me if you must.
Lukewarm showers are personal insults.
Big sisters are legally required to annoy little sisters.
Water tastes better when it’s sipped with guilt.
Some days the brain is buffering, and that’s okay.
Adulting tip: Why solve today’s problem when tomorrow’s version of me is so much more qualified
Doing it alone is tough, but being unhappy is tougher—and hey, faking it still technically counts as doing it… kind of.
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