I am not proud of this, but for the past three nights I've been in bed before 10 PM. Around 9:30, I give up on doing anything productive, put on my pajamas, crawl under the covers with a book and am asleep within the hour. Not restful sleep. Sleep full of dreams so vivid that I wake up wondering where I am, having been ripped away from somewhere else entirely, somewhere I'd rather stay, to be honest.
On Monday, I half-heartedly declared it WORST. DAY. EVER. Week, but my heart's not in it. Not even half my heart. Too many not-worst things have happened; good news from the doctor, secret projects, friends making plans to come visit. It's not a shitty week, really. It's just blah enough to make me wish it was over.