So sleepy.

.

.

I didn't wake until early afternoon, nearly two/14:00.  But, just to eat.  I couldn't stay up.  Mom had half a dozen things she wanted me to do.  I told her I would do things later.  She wasn't happy.  She ended up just doing some of those things.  As I have said, if she wants things done on her schedule she may have to do them herself.  Not being rude, just... I have serious limits.

If you lived in my skin, you would understand.  Imagine going to bed at, say 21:00 to 22:00.  Waking at, say, 5:00 to 7:00.  Now, imagine being awaken every few hours, being asked to take out the trash, or put up kitchen rods, do these or those chores.  Sometimes, often, you couldn't.  Sometimes I can't even eat, even if it has been actual days between meals.

A few hours down for you can be like eight, ten, tweny, even thirty hours down for me.  Sometimes no amount of sleep will gain me a rested state.  Have you ever had a terrible thirst, or hunger, that you can't seem to sate?  Imagine having that sort of thirst or hunger for sleep.  Insatiable, for days, weeks, months, even years at times.  The pain from that is immense.  My bones hurt for it!  Forty years of that... thirst like nothing you can imagine. Why do you think I so desperately sought death?

I am grateful for her work.  I wish I could help more, more often.  But more, I wish I could fulfill my potentials in engineering, crafting patents, writing, and else.  I could make serious money if allowed loose, with real training.  As is, I mostly just try to figure out how to sleep enough to not know agony... either by sorting rest or sleeping so long and deeply that awareness doesn't crush me.

Though, I will say?  Working as she does is something she actually enjoys.  And, I keep her supplied with needs and wants, help in my odd ways, teach her new processes, tools, foods, and products.  Plus I do help with things she really can't do... when I can.

I worry about her.  She does push herself hard.  But I honestly think her work ethic keeps her younger and healthier.  She serves.  Not... just me, but her interests and needs, the home, though me too... as much as serving an often comatose person is possible, necessary.  As frustrated as she gets, I do think she is happy with her lot.  For my part, I do attempt to create an envirnment in which her efforts are appreciated and suported.

Not perfect, but perfection requires a solid faith, a good true life, then death.  You don't get perfection here, or in the now here... or some such.  But you can get small tastes of it.  If humbly.

Well... just... putting a little out there.