I slept ridiculously badly last night.
In one way this wasn't as bad as it might normally have been because today there was no lift club to get up for.
But in another way it was extra miserable because it meant that even when I did wake up I felt so awful that I wondered if I could join D's group of people going to the rugby (group stages of the Women's Rugby World Cup happening in Salford) this afternoon. After an hour lying down -- I didn't sleep but I tried to rest -- I felt enough better to go. I enjoyed the first half (except the score) but really flagged at halftime and was barely aware of the second half (beyond the howls of misery from the loud Scottish fans behind me, who screamed every minute or two about how awful the referring was even though they were winning the whole time).
When we got home I was so tired I tried again to sleep, couldn't do it. I'm now sick of my books and phone games and everything I use to pass the time when my insomnia is bad.
It feels like a real waste of a day, which makes the bank holiday weekend into just a regular weekend.
The weather has been cooler and the sun isn't shining; the light feels weird, it feels like the day never gets going properly. Day after day all week.
I hope very much that sleep is kinder to me tonight. But I don't feel tired now: I didn't do anything; I'm uncomfortably aware that I didn't manage to exercise more than the minimum this week when I'm trying to do more. And I'm not sure about the direction that circuits is taking under its new trainer; it's not working up a sweat in me in the same way.
So between that, a day on trains to and from London on Tuesday, not managing to go to the gym Thursday night when I really wanted to...it's been a whole week of blah (except Wednesday night it was fun to go see To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar which we'd never seen before and then have a lush meal afterwards, the first time in ages I actually felt like I ate too much but it was pleasant).