“Lack of Sleep Makes 40-Something Year Old Men Die Faster”

I know I have to hold still next weekend, no matter what. All day, legs up on a pillow

I have always been a huge fan of voyuerism… but not in the creepy way? I love “Days In The Life” articles… I never miss a Vogue beauty secret or a Women’s Health fridge guide (even if all of the above can be toxic)… and I pour over “Beauty Uniforms” and “7 Outfit Guides” and every ritualistic piece of writing that takes me through the path of another’s day. What are their secrets, tips, tricks?

But one thing I almost NEVER see is someone doing exactly that… while also juggling a full time chronic illness or lifelong pain.

That’s where this idea sprung (even if “springing” is not a verb I generally do). This is where I write out 24-hours (“no stomas barred”)- from products, to perspectives, to purpose- WITHOUT skipping the symptoms and side effects I often do when posting publicly, yet believe need to be notched in the footnotes of human experience.

Follow along in a ** sick ass life from soup to nuts, symptoms to nuance. Every update, complaint and caveat in an otherwise semi stoic sick *ss schedule.

In our old life, we said the words “ships in the night” a lot.

My partner would come straight from work a couple of hours away, do office work close by in the studio purely because I was stressed about driving home the worse and worse my health was becoming, and then drove the 40 minutes home as I did (separate cars) to ease my nerves, arriving around 11 PM or so, crashing out exhausted by midnight (he, not I), and waking up at 4:30 AM to drive his 2 hours back into the city once more.

Rinse, repeat.

I would text him extremely unhelpful things like “Lack of sleep makes 40-something year old men die faster” or “Stress can make your sad 40-something heart get a clot” or “Studies show that texts like these from your wife don’t make you care any more about not skipping lunch than you otherwise would… but they DO raise your blood pressure, so good luck with that!”

These days, he is living a much healthier life because I am not able to do my job any more.

Or at least the extent that was required then. And though I warm the fire of my soul with lies by telling myself the extent of aid I needed for this last show was “at least” just that show, sort of, or had only gotten that dire for one season (to convince myself my burden was, “at least”, brief)… It doesn’t change the fact that it was still a burden too large to bear.

And that if you say “at least” twice in one sentence… you’re trying to make up for something.

A personal failure.

Your person.

A failure.