Exhaustion, thou art my constant companion

Once again, I find myself plumbing the depths of sleep-related misery. The difference now is that it's not caused by insomnia, per se, but rather an inability to stay asleep.
I haven't yet been able to figure out if this is mental, physical, or environmental. To be sure, I drink a lot of water and tea, so a contributing explanation could just be that it's my bladder waking me up 4-5 times a night, and the simple effort of shuffling to and from the bathroom is enough disruption of the sleep cycle to prevent me from getting back to sleep easily. But that can't be all, for the obvious reason that I don't have to pee every time I wake up.

I'd imagine that part of it also has to do with my options for sleeping surfaces. Having some understanding of what goes into a piece of well-built furniture, it's almost painful to me to refer to most of what's in my apartment as "furniture". There is no bed, per se, just a "canapea extensibil", or foldout couch. And even these (there are two of them--one in the bedroom, one in the main room) aren't foldout couches in the way most Americans would recognise them; there is no "mattress" anything happening here. The main room boasts a wood frame sofa with some cotton batting and fabric stapled over it, with a hinge that will cause the entire contraption to swing up and flatten out into a "bed". The bedroom has three rectangular foam cushions affixed to another wooden frame that pops, accordion-like, out of the seat.
The comfort of these contraptions is rather easily imagined; slim, under the best of circumstances. Due to the heating setup in the apartment I spent the winter sleeping in the main room to conserve wood (no sense in building two fires if it's not necessary), and finally resorted to sleeping atop the comforter, and under my sleeping bag, as I grew tired of spending the first couple of hours of every morning gimpy from hip or back pain if I didn't. I still regularly wake up, several times a week, in discomfort and have to shift around until I find a position in which I can fall back asleep. Finding a way to lie on this thing to get a full, uninterrupted night's sleep is a feat I have not yet managed. The other isn't much better; I haven't spent a night on it in a while, but when I did I'd regularly wake up during the night with back pains or hip pains or tingly arms from shoulder compression.

I also often wonder if plain old stress isn't another contributing factor; while it's true that my stress-related sleeplessness has almost always manifested itself as straight-up insomnia, it's possible that this is part of the problem now. I don't have many specific, obvious stressors, but the general circumstances--new place, being the only American most of these people have met, getting constant looks on the street and in shops, teaching and dealing with students and teachers--can get me wound up sometimes, and tends to build almost imperceptibly, so that I don't necessarily notice that I'm getting stressed until I overreact to something or get into a funk for no apparent reason.
Whatever the cause, it's revived the unpleasant effects of insomnia; feeling tired, listless, out of it, having no energy. It gets really tough to get up in the mornings, especially on the days when I have to be at the school at 8am. I've had some success with trying to take naps in the afternoon when I get home, but it's not much of a substitute for a solid night's sleep. I'd give a lot to be able to crawl into bed, curl up comfortably, and sleep soundly until morning.

We pause to bring you this Public Service Announcement

I received the link to this page in an email forward from a member of my group. Normally I detest email forwards and delete them on sight, but this time the address caught my eye, and I'm glad it did.
It's for the Animal Rescue Site, and clicking on the link at the top of the page donates a small sum for food and care to animal rescue charities. I've made it the start page on my browser, and make a point of clicking at least once a day. You should too. Tell your friends, harass your co-workers, badger your family members, email it to those people who are still sending you messages with subject lines like "Fwd: FW: Fwd: Fwd: Re: Hilarious!!!" and not even bothering to trim the headers.

Click to Give @ The Animal Rescue Site

Wow.

I've been looking to put together some lyrical analysis/cultural study lessons for some of my more advanced students, and in the course of my search I found ... Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man", translated into Romanian and performed by a Romanian musical group.

Serendipity, indeed.

What is it today?

In pursuit of my lazy attempt to document all the odd cravings for things I can't have whilst here, I bring you the most recent: juice.

It's not that juice can't be had, here--suc is actually quite popular. The problem one often runs into is that "suc" refers to nearly everything in the non-alcoholic, non-dairy, bottled beverage range. Coca-Cola? Suc. Fanta? Suc. Tymbark Cool Grapefruit Roz? Yup ... suc. Precious little "suc" is actually juice, as we're used to it in the States, and when it is, it's usually cartoned in a UHT box-bag-pod-thing, primed for long-term storage, and sitting on an unrefrigerated shelf. Sure, it may taste more or less like juice, depending on how high the juice:sugar/water/"natural flavour" ratio is, but when it comes to vitamin content, you're screwed. Next to no health benefits whatsoever.

Nope, what I'm missing is the wonderful, tangy, fresh (and fresh-tasting) newly bottled juice from the hippy health food stores and the overpriced foody joints. Odwalla, Naked Juice, blends from Trader Joe's and Whole Paycheck. Fresh-squeezed tangerine juice that makes you never want to have another sip of carton OJ, protein smoothies with mango and banana and red fruit blends awash in fructose sweetness and tart lumps of pulp, the occasional raspberry seed to crunch on. I'd even go for a Jamba Juice right now, despite its bevy of frozen fruits and propensity to dump mystery powders into the mix.

True, this stuff is treated as well, albeit just pasteurised, not superheated and stamped with an expiry date in the next decade. So it's not as fresh-from-the-trees as I make it seem (though I did enjoy taking advantage of those opportunities when there were summer fruits aplenty as well), but it's a damn sight better than an expensive litre carton of something that bears, at best, a tenuous link to the natural analogue rather orgiastically printed in four-color process on the front, wet with dew and bursting with imaginary flavour.

And the joys of my life once again know no bounds

I've not yet been able to find a vet around here for the Cat, who is now in heat.

Yeah, there are worse things in the world than a roommate who yowls and sticks her butt in the air incessantly, but there are better things also, especially when you live in a bloc apartment with thin walls and cranky neighbours.

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