3:00am: the Painter comes into our room, as he has nearly every night for who-knows-how-long. He crawls into bed. I try to sleep. 10 minutes later, I fold him in my arms, carry him to his bed, kiss him, say I love you, good night, then climb back into my bed, tossing and turning.
All I can think about in the middle of an interrupted night is my foundering career, about having to ask my recommenders yet again to draft up a new recommendation letter (or at least, to take the 6 seconds it would take to paste a new date at the top of the old one) and forward it to my campus reference letter service. I contemplate whether I'll be asking my dissertation chair to draft up individual letters again for many of the jobs.
Who wants to read file letters? But I just can't see asking my writers to pen so many more. This will be my third real job cycle, I'm heading into. I feel guilty asking for letters. I hate this hate this hate this hate this! I hate being in this position. DAMN IT! I deserve better.
I deserve better than to be kept up at nights by these thoughts, these worries, these concerns. It's not my son's fault (though I really really really wish I could simply get him to stay in his own bed ALL NIGHT! At least if I'm not awakened, perhaps, I'd get a good night's sleep). Patience... patience and perseverance.
I crawled out of bed around 3:50, figuring it's better to stare at my computer screen, than suffer the din of my night-time tossing thoughts. Perhaps this way, my wife can sleep. It's been 45 minutes. I wonder if I'll be able to get back to sleep before daylight.