Pound of flesh

Last night (or rather, in the wee hours of this morning) I had a disturbingly vivid dream that I was slicing a huge strip of flesh off my leg.

In this dream, I said out loud to someone near me (I have no idea who) that the initial cutting hurt but once you got underneath to the fat, it was pretty easy.

Then I proceeded to show them and I could feel it. I can feel it now … the pain of the slice of the blade across the top of my thigh then the numbness setting in and not feeling a thing as I watched myself slice under the flap and downwards towards the knee (although, weirdly, it looked like the view someone else would have watching me do it).

The fat was pure white and not as thick as I would have expected. It actually all looked like a piece of pork belly roast you buy at the butchers – pink and smooth.

Recalling it makes me feel slightly ill and I wonder what on earth kind of game my subconscious brain is playing at.

The toddler is not sleeping and I wonder if that’s got something to do with it. She goes down ok but after a few hours she’s awake and into our bed. If we move her back and settle her, it’s not long until she’s up again and crawling back in.

We wouldn’t mind co-sleeping but she is so restless, kicking off the sheets and blankets or kicking us, that we’re all sleep-deprived as a result – although she seems way chirpier in the mornings than we do.

Last night it took me 2 hours to get her to go to sleep. Then she was awake not long after I went to bed so I once again mentally steeled myself, took her back in and lay down beside her. At 3am, I tried coming back into my own bed but just lay there in despair, not being able to fall back into sweet unconsciousness.

As it turned out, it wasn’t long until she was in with us.

I lay there on my side sobbing silently with exhaustion until finally falling into that disturbing dream.

It’s been 3 years since I had regular, decent sleep.

I feel like this is my sleep life forever.

I don’t know if people at work understand what I really mean when I say I’m tired.

I don’t view going to bed as rest and revitalisation but rather the beginning of an 8 hour battle for survival.

In actual fact, I kind of dread it.

I’m not sure how much more I can take.