Freakishly Awake

It is 3am Sunday night, or Monday morning depending on how technically correct you want to be. I am not looking forward to going to work in the morning. I am so tired of the sh*t that's going on. I feel like quitting even though I know I won't. I set myself a task and that is to stay on till the end of the project and that is what I'll do. But it still doesn't change the fact that I dread the idea of going back in a few hours. This is bad. This is what happens when you work too many hours and working weekends and suddenly one weekend you decide you have to take off and you get too much time to think why it's better to have a job that doesn't require you to be there seven days a week and you begin to resent it even though you didn't resent it before and was actually keeping a cheery disposition because well, you could. At 3am my mind is racing. Past events keep repeating that are of no consequence on today, or any other day in the future for that matter. I wonder if it's a reaction to the coffee I had at 7pm. No, it must something more. And no, it's not to do with what happened on Friday night. I know it isn't, because these things are not beyond my EQ. But I did freak out a little at the time, because I was completely drained from the stress I was under at work and it was the last thing I'd wanted to deal with and I had no idea it was coming. Seriously, even after 5 minutes into the conversation I had no idea what the other person was trying to say. I was blind-sighted. Exhausted and blind. But it clicked when he said he and his girlfriend are on a trial separation. Dear god. Once I heard that I knew what the rest of the speech was without hearing it. It's happening again. Why me? Why do I give people this wonderful sense of trust that they feel they can talk to me about anything and everything, and that I am this caring, thoughtful person that gives a sh*t? I hate that I do care. Because I'm drained right now. And the only person I can think about right now is me. I know that's selfish, I know that's not nice but I've been alone for years now, I'm used to thinking about me, and the last "relationship" I had was utterly soul-destroying because I cared and he didn't. Why doesn't someone rescue me for a change? He actually said he would, bless his cotton socks. Yes, bless them all! But still does me no good. He wasn't riding a white horse and he had no armour. I'm cursed to be a romantic forever. Every girl wants a fairytale, even though every modern girl knows it's practically impossible. And in practice, almost impossible. I am the poor sucker for the "just might be a tiny bit possible" part. Reality check please. Strange as I am completely and utterly rational. Freaky and awake. But I don't think it's the reason why I'm being insomniac tonight. It's work that I don't want to face tomorrow. Trying to delay its existence, for I know once I fall asleep, the next thing that happens is I open my eyes and the truth will be upon me. Sigh. Admitting denial is for the poor man who can't afford to not face the truth. Being in it is for the rich man who can. If you know what I mean. One happy thing about the weekend has been the rain. The lovely rain beating down a happy, strong rhythm. It was like a veil that cut me off from my troubles. I was hidden and untouchable. But the rains are clearing now and I hear the chirps of the early birds. Sirens that alarm me to the approaching day, marching marching marching towards me, ready to sieze me and haul me off to the firey incinerators. Curse the day!