Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

So, Internet, it's been a pretty okay summer. I've been working hard, in more ways than one, and it is starting to pay off in small, incremental ways, although it is a hard road to hoe, not to mention slow going.

The business is coming up, even if it is at a sluggish pace. I finally feel fully confident in my skills, and my ability to sell those skills to just about anybody. I haven't gotten any aghast reactions to my rates in a while, which means I'm selling to the correct market, at last. Now I just have to find the time to seek out more of that market.

I joined a gym a few months ago. I pour lots of time into walking briskly on a treadmill, and once a week I see a personal trainer who kicks my ass. My first week, I had personal training sessions on both Monday and Wednesday, and on Friday morning I was slowly waking up when I asked my half-awake self, Was I in a car accident?

Nope, I realized. I'm just that sore.

I've come a pretty long way since then. I officially have more energy than I've had in years, and I dare say I may be stronger than I've ever been. Every time I pick up some object and it feels substantially lighter than I expected, I'm pleasantly surprised.

But it's not all sunshine and sparkles. I don't know if anyone has mentioned this to you, Internet, but keeping your nose to the grindstone for months on end really kind of sucks. And it's not that I lack a work ethic, because honestly, when it's good work, I do love my work. It is more that it is difficult to enjoy your work when you feel like a sword of Damocles is hanging over you at all times. I can't seem to get ahead of my bills, to work at a pace where I'm not always at the brink of monetary disaster. And I don't always stay ahead of that brink. There have been several disasters, plenty to go round.

I feel like I should be at a point where I'm planning how to pay off my college debts and start saving for a house, not wondering whether or not I'm going to be able to pay my rent on time and watching my credit rating plunge. To borrow an old Hollywood cliché, I'm too old for this shit. It has me tired, frankly.

And yet, contrary to popular belief, exercise has not changed or stabilized my sleep patterns. Despite that being one of my primary goals, my insomnia is still as bad as ever, and once I get to sleep, it is not easy for me to get up again. And the worse part are the dreams.

I'm having a lot of nightmares. They are usually extremely bloody, often involving torture, or injuries that would leave someone permanently disfigured, or degrading acts that are followed by being set on fire. When I was a kid I had nightmares about being chased by ghosts or some other such ridiculous thing; now when I wake up it takes me a little longer than it should to remember it wasn't real.

The funny thing is, these nightmares are not the worst part of my dream life. I've been having tons of dreams lately where my life is easy and my big problems have all been solved. I'm living in a great two-bedroom apartment and set myself up a sweet office. Or, my hourly rate has tripled and I have a steady flow of work, but I only have to work on things I'm super excited about and I never worry about my rent getting paid. Or, I've reached my goal weight and routinely go on morning runs. Or, my old 1990 coupe gets the body work it so desperately needs, and some kind of regular maintenance. Or, if there's something I need like a new pair of jeans or a haircut, I just go get it without having to give a second thought to my bottom line.

I don't know if you noticed, but these dreams aren't depicting insanely lofty goals. There's no winning the lottery, there's no big movie career, there's no photographer for Rolling Stone job in these dreams, there are just all these perfectly tangible, totally normal goals. I dream not about a mansion, but an slightly bigger apartment with room for a real office. Not about a new car, but getting my junker in full working order again. When I wake up and that half minute goes by where I still think it really happened, I'm ecstatic. So imagine the feeling I must have when I come down to reality.

The absolute worst dream of this kind was last night. In my waking life, I don't think about Edward1 much anymore. I feel like this is a good thing; we are still friends but he plainly rejected my romantic overture, and while it took several months I am finally in a healthy, non-obsessed place. So why is he showing up in my dreams, playing the role of my boyfriend at my parents' Thanksgiving dinner? We were definitely together in this dream, and we both looked fucking great, young and vivacious, and we couldn't keep our hands off each other. We were so in love, and when I woke up and it wasn't true, my heart ached in a way I cannot describe. I hate that. It makes me feel like a crazy person to have so little control over my own weird tormented thoughts.2

As I write this, I remember the screed I wrote about how spending time with Edward was like being addicted to narcotics;3 when I was with him I felt like a million bucks, and when I was away from him I always was thinking about my next fix. Dr. Drew says that recovering drug addicts can have using dreams that, in some people, reproduce the physiological effects of using. That this can go on for years after. I don't suppose to have quite the same problem as someone addicted to cocaine, but goodness, the parallels are hard to ignore.

I think these dreams are why it has become easy for me to sleep for 10 or 12 or 14 hours at a stretch.4 The nightmares do serve some purpose in the face of all this. This morning, at 9, I sat up with a start and was up for the day. If my Edward dream hadn't suddenly incorporated a bloody trauma to a family member's face, I probably would have dozed well into the afternoon.5

1. 1. The full alias is E. Edward Grey.
2. 2. Take a second and think about how fucked up it is to worry that you can't control your thoughts. Of all things.
3. 3. Don't go looking for it, haven't published that one because it is even more histrionic than my regular writing, if you can believe it.
4. 4. Assuming I can get to sleep in the first place, which is always touch and go.
5. 5. Although this is true, this is also my idea of comic relief, which, on a reread, I think just proves how sick I really am.