No. Sleep. Til. Brooklyn.

I have been sleeping GREAT since I got back to GA. In Winnipeg, I was averaging 3 hours a night. Now, I'm back to like 6 hours a night, which is tremendous. But tonight, no dice. And Paul hasn't been sleeping well either, so I hesitate to lie down beside him cause i don't wanna toss and turn and keep him awake.

My life is rather boring right now. There are several major things going on, but I can't seem to work up the (German word I don't know how to spell, meanin 'joy to do it" basically) freudichate to do it. Also, the apartment is still a sty, and I'm not having much energy these days to work on it. Most of the place is now tidied, which is the first step. Bathrooms, bedroom, living room all tidied. I scoured the kitchen from top to bottom, cause that's always the most crucial for me. I only have two loads of Paul's laundry left to do. There are clean, neat stacks of towels, fresh bedding on the bed etc. But the icky stuff remains. No matter how many times I clean up the sunroom, its is basically the junk catch all, so its a pigpen again. And then after that's done, I need to start the cleaning . Thus far, it has only been making the place appear nice, now I have to actually clean it. So this is my remaining to do list, short form. Vacuum, mop, sweep, clean carpets, clean light fixtures, clean balconies, wash windows and blinds, dust, work on Immigration papers.

Mostly, I don't wanna do any of this cause I want to go to Ikea and spend a small fortune and change the entire appearance of this place. At least the bedroom. I can't stand the bare white walls and echoey sound of it. And we need, NEED shelves for all of Paul's collections. Otherwise they just get thrown in a corner somewhere and I get THE LOOK when I try to clean them up.

Normally, I would be all over cleaning this place, but for some reason it is giving me a bit of the icks. I feel like no matter how much I clean it, it will still have lingering...things I don't want to think about embedded in all its surfaces. I wanna get Molly Maid in here to basically Lysol the whole thing. But that would be ludicrous, since its my only damn job to keep this place clean and Smeagol and Paul fed and happy. So, in the meantime, I am doing things in small doses. Tomorrow, I will finish the damn laundry if it kills me. So far as I can tell, Paul had no underwear or socks clean when I got here. When I ask him what he was doing for underthings, he gets nervous and blushes. I don't want to know.

Life is so good, but there is this lingering feeling of something missing. Paul and I are trying to work out what this is. I seem to alternate between absolute euphoria with my life and total confusion and devastation that something is amiss. And, P wants me to try to stop taking my sanity drugs. Its a tough decision. Any thoughts?