I lasted nearly 5 hours without waking up with the piercing pain shooting down my right leg. That's much better than the previous three nights. Something to celebrate, indeed.
Nonetheless, here I am, standing at the kitchen counter at 2:44 am, an ice pack attached by a belt to my lower back, typing away. Dr. Lew - my chiropractor - finally called back yesterday - twice; to make up, I suppose, for not calling me back Friday, Saturday or Sunday - and told me I shouldn't be taking Tylenol, but Advil; that I should knock off the Ben-Gay; and should be icing my back twenty minutes at a time, in the 90/90 position, so as to have the greatest chance of reducing inflammation around the sciatic nerve. Or something. I'm booked to see him for one this afternoon.
It's good, sometimes, to keep odd hours the way I have been the last few days. It lends an unusual perspective to things, catches the mind and body off guard. There are times when I awake in the middle of the night with a tremendous amount of energy and direct it almost exclusively into feeling stressed that I'm not sleeping.
I get the rationale, but really it's kind of ridiculous. What a waste. Who knows what might become of such a natural upswelling of life.
I wonder if a person only gets a certain number of those in their life before they just stop - before the world just kind of shrugs and says, "Well, I did what I could" and moves on to inspiring someone else.
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