On sleep, or lack thereof

It's amazing what a difference a good night's sleep makes. I mean, not really. It's not amazing at all. It's actually pretty obvious. Everyone knows sleep is good. Duh. Long-time readers of this blog (or even not-so-long-time readers) might remember that I often have trouble sleeping, sometimes going through long stretches of time without getting a good night's sleep, which sucks and also double sucks because when I don't sleep, it's all I want to talk about and THAT IS SUPER BORING. But boring enough to put me to sleep? No.

Sometimes my sleep trouble is Max's fault, for sneaking onto our bed while we're asleep and then trying to curl up on my pillow. Sometimes it's Phoebe's fault, because it seems like 3am is her favorite vomiting time and, you guys, vomiting time is LOUD. Sometimes it's Joe's fault (IT SO IS) for snoring or moving too much or accidentally elbowing me in the head or, really, for just being asleep when I'm not asleep HOW RUDE NO FAIR.

But most of the time, it's no one's fault but my own because I can't turn my brain off. I can't make myself relax because you know what the least relaxing thing in the world is? Trying to tell yourself to relax. Especially if you're already worried that you're not going to get enough sleep. It's easy to tell yourself in the bright light of day that all you need to do is close your eyes, focus on your breathing, and you'll relax, but when it's nighttime and you're stressed about work the next day and you're brain-yelling at yourself to RELAX BREATHE IN COUNT TO FOUR BREATHE OUT COUNT TO FOUR RELAX RELAX RELAX...you're never going to fall asleep. SORRY BUT YOU'RE NOT.



Sunday was one of those nights for me. I had no good reason to not be able to fall asleep. If I fell asleep at all, I woke up an hour later, hoping that I could just fall right back to sleep but NO. I finally fell into a nice sleep around 5:30, only to wake up an hour later with the alarm, wanting to cry and sink back into bed instead of facing the day.

What do you guys do if you can't sleep? Do you get up and do stuff? Or, like me, do you just lie there, doing sad math until your alarm goes off? You know, like this: "OK, if I fall to sleep now, I can still get five hours of sleep...I can live on that. It's only one day, and then I can come straight home after work and take a nap...oh, shit...OK, if I fall to sleep NOW, I can get four hours of sleep. People live on that all the time. It's fine. Doctors don't sleep for like 48 hours straight and they operate on people so I can definitely sit at a desk all day on four hours of sleep. It's fine. OH SHIT THREE HOURS OF SLEEP I MIGHT AS WELL JUST GIVE UP AND FREAK OUT FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT."

And so on.

There's got to be a better way to use this sleepless time. Should I get up and do something productive? Try to read a book? Reading in bed always makes me sleepy. Should I just give up and get up at 3am to work out or something? Or will that just lead to me falling asleep on the way to work? HELP ME, INTERNET, YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE. Because this was me when I got home from work yesterday:



and that is unacceptable.

Charlie Bucket was the luckiest boy in the entire world. He just didn't know it yet.

I give up. Every Sunday night I try to go to bed at a (somewhat) reasonable hour, and every Sunday night I lie there, staring at the ceiling and wishing I was asleep. Last night, I tried so hard, you guys! That's a lie. I was watching Willy Wonka (the new one) on TV. Even though I prefer the old one, that doesn't mean I'm gonna just TURN OFF THE TV when there are Oompa Loompa shenanigans to watch. That's crazy talk.

Hey! How about a Conversation With My Roommate? Sound good? I don't care!

Me: Why are there starving Africans on the front of the coupons this week?
Heidi: They're not starving, they're drinking Pur water.
Me: I didn't realize starving Africans were so into name brands.
Heidi: Duh. Anyway, those aren't starving Africans. That baby is Angelina Jolie's kid.
Me: WOW. I can't talk to you anymore.

LATER

Heidi: Guess what I watched earlier?
Me: What?
Heidi: The Prince and Me.
Me: . . .
Heidi: 2.
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: I know.
Me: It was bad enough before you added the 2.
Heidi: Yeah, well.
Me: It's OK, I watched part of The Cutting Edge 3 the other day.
Heidi: Wow.
Me: I know.

I forgot to tell you guys this, and I can't believe I did because it was HILARIOUS. Saturday night, we were standing outside (next to a sex shop, no less), waiting to get into Bogarts and this guy was going down the line asking for change. He's not important, though. I'm not sure why I even told you about him. Forget I said anything. Anyway, there was another guy in a wheelchair and he has a sign that said, "Give me some change or I'll kick you in the face," and at first I was like, "well, that's rude," but it turns out he didn't have any legs.

And now for some sad news. Remember a long time ago when I bought all that crap at Target that had The Office all over it? Here. Let me show you it. Well. They frisked us as we went into Bogarts (I felt violated) and then this lady went through my purse. She found a pen and she was like, "you can take this back to your car or we can throw it away." At first I was all, "throw it away," but then I saw it was my Michael Scott pen and I had to think about it. In the end, I told her to throw it away because the car was far away and I just wanted to go inside and get a beer and see Spoon. I cried a little. On the inside, though, where no one can see your tears. Apparently you can use a pen as a weapon, I guess, which I wasn't aware of. Until this (tall) douchebag in front of me started dancing around bumping into people and then I realized if I had my pen I probably would have stabbed him in the neck. So really that lady who threw my pen away saved me from 7-10 years in prison. Thanks, lady.

and Wednesday, too

I had trouble sleeping last night on account of the wind was blowing so hard I was sort of afraid I'd wake up in Oz. Like, the Oz with all the munchkins, not the Oz where ass-rapes happen. Although, maybe ass-raping is one of munchkin-Oz's dirty little secrets. It's not that I'd mind going to Oz. I think the Scarecrow and I would be BFF. Not the Cowardly Lion, though. I'd slap that whiny bitch right in the face.

Seriously, it was way windy. So windy, in fact, that I switched the channel from a rerun of Sex & the City to the news to make sure a tornado wasn't on top of the city at the moment. It wasn't. Apparently, though, it was windy enough to cause Heidi to freak out a tiny bit about what would happen if there was a tornado. Because, you see, our bedrooms are on the second floor and there IS no third floor so if the roof got blown off we'd be so dead. We talked about it today, and it turned out we were thinking the same thing about what to do if there WAS a tornado, providing she actually WOKE UP for it because I bet you anything she'd sleep right through it. Lucky bitch. Anyway, I told her not to worry, because sometimes when I'm bored (read: at work), I make up disaster plans for all sorts of things, such as fire or flash flood or Godzilla. These plans can include anything from making a torch out of a floor lamp, a pillowcase, and lighter fluid (zombie attack) to parachuting off of the balcony with bedsheets (fire that blocks the front door) to turning the fridge door into a raft (flood, duh).

I'm either the very best or very worst person to have with you when disaster strikes. Best, because I have all these plans already so you don't have to think and ALSO I don't panic very easily. Worst, because . . . I don't panic very easily AND have a very strong sense of denial, so if a T-Rex was attacking the neighborhood and his giant eye peeked in the window, I'd probably be all, "just ignore it, it'll go away eventually."

Or I'd throw Gerard at it.

I love you sweeeeatshirt. RED HOODED sweeeeeeeeeatshirt. DIP DIP DIP.

You guys know how sometimes I don't sleep, right? Um, well, sometimes I don't sleep. And there are some weeks where Heidi doesn't really sleep either and when these weeks collide I call it . . . well, I don't really call it anything.

But this week is one of those weeks. I bet my mom is reading this right now all "You're STILL NOT SLEEPING? I thought I told you to go to the doctor!" but I don't LIKE to go to the doctor and I feel like I've been at the doctor way too much lately. I prefer when there are years between doctor visits, not weeks. IT'S UNNATURAL AND WRONG AND I WON'T DO IT ANYMORE.

Anyway, um, what? Oh, right, not sleeping. I can tell when the not-sleeping is starting to become a problem because I start acting drunk when in reality I have not had a drop of alcohol since like . . . Tuesday. Like, last night we were watching Ugly Betty and I got really bored and on Halloween Steve left his big, giant, yellow 70's glasses at our apartment and they were sitting right next to me on the end table. So I put them on. Over my regular glasses. And then I was all, "excuse me, Heidi, I have something urgent and important to tell you" and she ripped her attention away from Ugly Betty and then she died laughing. I swear. Then she came back to life and took a picture of me in my two pairs of glasses reading some F. Scott Fitzgerald. We laughed so hard you guys. It was like the time we drank a bottle of wine and then looked at lolcats. Only we had no wine last night. None. Also, I told Heidi that someone found my blog by Googling "accidental butt sex," and then WE Googled "accidental butt sex" (I'm on page 2 of the results, btw) and it turns out this one girl really did have accidental butt sex. I won't go into details. YOU'RE WELCOME.

And then this happened:

Me: I love you sweeaaaaatSHIRT. RED HOODED sweeeeeaaaatSHIRT. DIP DIP DIP.
Heidi: Um, what are you singing?
Me: HELLO. The red-hooded sweatshirt song?
Heidi: . . .
Me: BY ADAM SANDLER.
Heidi: Oh.
Me: Oh, THAT IS IT, you need to see this.

And then we watched it. It was as awesome as I remember.

Also, last week, Heidi was just sitting on the couch reading a magazine and I was all, "who do you think would win in a fight . . . Han Solo or Indiana Jones?" and she gave me this look like . . . what? She answered and half-heartedly debated the subject for a couple of minutes, but I could tell she really wanted to go back to her magazine. I mean, I think the answer is obviously Han Solo. Indiana Jones may be handy with a whip, but Han Solo has a blaster and CHEWBACCA. So. You do the math.

And earlier today? One of our employees called me from Iraq and it was really hard to talk to him because there was a weird delay after anything either of us said. So I had him repeat his email address like 87 times and he was like "blah blah at echo echo charlie dot mil," and I almost stopped him and asked him what the hell kind of email address is blahblah@echoechocharlie.mil? But then I got what he was doing. Do you see why I need to start sleeping? Insomnia is making me stupider than I already am and I cannot function like that.

This has nothing to do with not sleeping, but you guys, I am seriously about to go crazy. This girl in my office has been listening to Christmas music for like two weeks now. I swear. And it's so loud. And one day she listened to " The 12 Pains of Christmas" on repeat for like an hour. IT'S TOO EARLY FOR CHRISTMAS MUSIC. And someone put up a tiny Christmas tree! IT'S TOO EARLY FOR CHRISTMAS TREES, I DON'T CARE HOW WEE IT IS. Do you remember that episode of Grey's Anatomy where Cristina Yang goes all Grinchy and takes that little kid's Christmas tree out of his room? And Burke got all that sand in his vagina because she didn't buy into his "spirituality" and happy Christmas bullshit? I'm totally on her side.

Surprise, surprise.

Prepare ship for ludicrous speed!

So yesterday I was being Whiny McBitcherson. I'm not sure why. It could have had something to do with the whole not sleeping Sunday night. Or that it was Monday and I was at work. All I know is, I was a big, giant anger ball (actually, more of a sad ball) for the majority of the workday and I sat all forlornly at my desk, staring into space in a wah-wah-wah fashion, until about 4 o'clock when I thought to myself, "Self, you are being ridiculous. You are going to be in a good mood right . . . NOW," and then I changed Death Cab for Cutie to The Fratelli's and PRESTO CHANGO I was in a good mood. Either I am very bossy (yes) or very open to suggestion (also yes).

COMPLETELY OUT OF CONTEXT CONVERSATION WITH MY ROOMMATE:

Heidi: So you know how Name Deleted called me at like 3:45 in the morning Saturday night?
Me: Yeah.
Heidi: And he kept asking about that word?
Me: What word? Oh, they kept saying tendencies, didn't they? What they hell were they talking about? What tendencies?
Heidi: Well, I had an email today.
Me: Oh lord.
Heidi: And they weren't saying "tendencies," they were saying "decendencies."
Me: Um, what?
Heidi: Yeah, he was all, "we were trying to figure out if decendencies was a word but spell check didn't recognize it."
Me: Well . . . because it's not a word.
Heidi: Right, I was like, "do you mean heritage?"
Me: Oh my god.
Heidi: I know.
Me: How drunk were they?
Heidi: He said they weren't drunk.
Me: What?
Heidi: Yeah.
Me: WHAT?! I'm sorry, but if I ever told anyone I thought decendency was a word, I'd soooo say I was drunk because . . . um, DECENDENCY.

So this morning I asked Heidi what her decendency was and she told me this: I believe my decendency dates back to the Mayflower. My great-great-great-great-great uncle was Isaac Mc Schmidt and he sailed over here from Ireland . When he got to the states, he met the lady that would become his wife, Pearl Brown. Pearl Brown came from an affluent family in Switzerland and her father was mayor of Goatsburg. So, all in all, my decendency is Swedish-Irish-mutt.

Which, I think is just fascinating, no? I love hearing about decendencies. What is your decendency, Internets? I know it sounds like I'm being mean by making fun of this, but HELLO it's funny! Usually it's me that says stupid shit like decendencies while drunk. Once in Mexico I tried to speak Spanish to our cab driver and I think it came out something like this: Ho-LA! Me llamo JENNIE! Co-mo es-tas! Ho-LA! so give me my moment, OK?

Then we watched Tim Gunn's new show, which . . . oh my god, you guys, I wish Tim Gunn lived next door to us. Watching all those fashion makeover shows always makes me feel bad about my own wardrobe, because they're always like, "you can't wear jeans and t-shirts all the time," and "your work wardrobe is unimaginative and dull," and then I think, "oh dear lord, that girl's clothes look exactly like mine!" Because if someone came to make over my wardrobe they'd take one look at it and be like, "JENNIE. You have 14 of the same shirt all in different colors," and I'd be all, "that's a problem?" and then they'd smack me. Only Tim Gunn wouldn't smack me because he is the NICEST MAN IN ALL OF EXISTENCE. Tim Gunn could tell me I looked like a sewer rat who had gotten caught in a shitstorm of . . . shit, and I wouldn't care because then he would make me feel good about myself by GIVING ME NEW CLOTHES AND TELLING ME I'M PRETTY.

My point is someone needs to nominate me for Tim Gunn's show because I heart him and I only have like TWO ITEMS from his Top Ten Women's Clothing Essentials List. So . . . either nominate me or buy me the rest of those items.

I can Dere-lick my own balls, thank you very much.

I'm eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich right now. Don't be jealous. I think the peanut butter and jelly sandwich might be the most perfect sandwich in the history of sandwiches. I would eat one for every meal if I didn't think I'd start to suffer from some sort of nutrition deficiency. When I was little, I didn't even bother with jelly. Just peanut butter and lots of it. Like, so much that when I took a bite of the sandwich I couldn't really open my mouth much until I gulped down half a glass of milk. Mmm, PB&J and milk. Man, I wish I had some milk right now.

This morning at work, in the span of five minutes I was called both "young lady," and "little lady," by different people. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I've been called worse, that's for sure, but I can't help but think "little lady" is unnecessary. Other ways I have been greeted at work? "Hey, girl," a salute, and "here comes trouble."

So I didn't really sleep last night. I'm not sure why. It could be all the caffeine I mainlined yesterday in order to stay awake at work. Or it could be that my body has just given up and succumbed to my brain's will to stay awake as long as possible. You win, brain. THIS TIME. But wait til Saturday when I will kill parts of you with alcohol. THEN we will see who is the one with the willpower! Or at least the vodka.

Even though I didn't really sleep last night, I still got out of bed late. Of course. Also? I found out that I don't have time to shave my legs when I get up that late. I'm not sure why I felt the need to shave my legs this morning. I thought about wearing a skirt because I really need to do laundry and skirts are practically all that I have left. But then I remembered I have a giant bruise on my shin from Friday night. I'm not sure how it got there, but it is big and all sorts of interesting colors. I'm used to finding random bruises all over my body. Not because Heidi beats me or anything, but because I have a tendency to run into walls and trip over shoes or Phoebe or air. True story.

a fist, a hand, hoocha hoocha hoocha . . . lobster

I could tell you I've never been this tired in my life, but I'd probably be lying. In fact, I'm so tired that I can't remember if I've ever been this tired in my life. So that's a problem. A tiny problem, I'll admit, but a problem.

Oh, Internets. It was sort of a disastrous weekend. I feel like I spent most of it in my car stuck in traffic because of the fucking tolls in Chicago. The traffic was so bad that even though I left the city for Barrington (where? yeah, I don't know either) an hour and a half early, I was two minutes late for the ceremony. And when I got there, they told me that since the ceremony had already started I couldn't go in. I thought about going all Jon Secada and pounding on a window and screaming until they let me in, but I couldn't see any windows overlooking the ceremony so instead I went out to my car and cried. I mean, yeah, it's not very productive but I felt better afterward. The reception was fun, although I couldn't dance very well because I think the dress I borrowed from Heidi was just a tiny bit too small and I was afraid one of my boobs would fall out and nothing ruins a reception faster than some guest who didn't even make it to the ceremony having a wardrobe malfunction. True story. After the ceremony, I changed my clothes in my car but it was OK because almost everyone was gone and it was really dark and now that I think about it maybe it's not a good idea to change your clothes in a dark, secluded parking lot if you're a woman and alone and in a strange town. Oh well. On the way home, this will surprise you, I got really lost in Chicago but it wasn't my fault because Mapquest gave me the wrong directions. Fucking Mapquest. When I finally got back to Mary's, I found the last parking spot in the $5 parking lot and gave her doorman my sob story about the traffic and the wedding and the getting lost and he let me into Mary's apartment. I guess I don't look very threatening (little does he know). Oh and I also accidentally ran through a toll without paying on the way to the wedding. Oops.

There were other small disasters. Not as disastrous as, I don't know, missing the wedding, but still. At dinner Friday night, there was a tiny mishap with a full margarita and I ended up wearing it. As I sat there, staring at the sticky mess in my lap, I wondered if I should just give up and go home but NO I went into the bathroom (thankfully it was a one person bathroom and not one with a bunch of stalls) and took off my shirt and pants and dried them under the hand dryer. And that is how I ended up half naked in a restaurant bathroom in Chicago. DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE. Anyway, I spent the rest of the night somewhat sticky and smelling of strawberries.

Also?

Mary: Boyfriend's Friend is hitting on you.
Me: No, he's not.
Erica: Yes, he is.
Me: No, he's not.
Mary: Um, OK.
Me: He has a girlfriend.
Mary: Yeah, he cheats on her a lot.
Me: OH MY GOD! I AM SO SICK OF BOYS! SERIOUSLY! I'm done.
Mary: Please stop yelling.

Then later in the car I yelled some more about something I can't remember. Don't worry, this wasn't angry yelling or anything. It's just that when I drink, my volume goes up to 11 (that's high) and everything I say sounds like angry yelling or at least regular yelling but it's really not.

Yesterday it took us approximately 97 hours to get out of the city and I finally made it home a little after 10. And even though I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep last night. What IS that? I love sleeping! Why doesn't my brain? Sleep is SO GOOD. My brain doesn't even know. Stupid brain, who needs it?

I don't want it to seem like it was a terrible weekend. I had fun. It's just that, you know, shitty things happened. It's OK, though, because yesterday was officially the end of my wedding season. Until October. Sigh.

Lids down, I count sheep, I count heartbeats, the only thing that counts is that I won't sleep, I count down, I look around

Well, it's been a while since I've talked about not sleeping. Hasn't it? It has. Thanks for agreeing with me. Sometimes I go through periods where I don't sleep. Unless I drink profusely before bed and not even that works every time. Believe me, I've tried. I'm kidding. Maybe.

You know how sometimes after a night of drinking you wake up and your mouth tastes all fuzzy? Or like someone (hopefully you) threw up in it and then you forgot to brush your teeth? So you've got this ungodly taste in your mouth and it also feels like you've been sucking on cotton all night?

Anyway, that's what my brain feels like right now.

I'm not sure why I don't sleep sometimes. Maybe it's mental. OK, I'm sure it's mental. Heh, mental. Or I need to cut back on the caffeine (NO GOD NO) but I wouldn't NEED the caffeine in the first place if my brain would just shut up long enough to let me fall to sleep. Here are some of the reasons I couldn't sleep last night:

• I slept too late on Sunday, because I couldn't fall to sleep Saturday night.
• Phoebe was purring too loud.
• I got too hot under the covers so I had to take my pants off and then I got too cold and had to put socks on and then I got too hot again so I threw the comforter on the floor and then I got cold again OH MY GOD STOP THE MADNESS.
• I kept having weird dreams (nothing new there) and after each one I'd wake up, sit up, and say, (loudly, for Phoebe's benefit? I don't know) "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
• I start my new job on Wednesday and I am having paranoid delusions that they're going to call me Tuesday night and shriek, "HAHA JUST KIDDING!" and then hang up and I will cry, cry, cry all night long (but not sleep).
• The moonlight was too bright . . . SERIOUSLY. It was shining in my window and it woke me up because it was too damn bright. Normally, I love a full moon (heh) . . . it's all pretty and bright and romantic but not when I'm trying to sleep because I have to get out of bed and close the curtains and then I freeze because I'm not wearing pants (see above).

That's right, moonlight woke me up. I'm a very light sleeper, which is funny (not haha funny) because Heidi is such a deep sleeper. There are are mornings that I wake up because I hear both her alarm and TV through her closed door and my closed door and she can sleep right through it. I don't know how she does it but I'm totally jealous. This one morning as I was leaving I passed her room and the TV was blaring and bright and her alarm that sounds like you're standing INSIDE an actual church bell was ringing and ringing AND RINGING and she was dead asleep.

Oh my god, this is so boring. I'm sorry (not really). Maybe if I read this over and over I'll be able to fall asleep. I should probably wait until I get home, though.

Abraham Lincoln once said, if you’re a racist, I will attack you with the North.

People kept asking me if I have today off and every time they did all I could think was, "why do people keep asking me that?" Because, no, I do not have today off. If you do? I don't want to hear about it. Although, to the dear people of Dayton, at least I can take pleasure in the fact that it is RAINING on your day off. I'm sorry, that was mean. I'll try to be nicer (no, I won't).

I really wish it would stop raining, though. Yesterday, I tried to trade someone the internet for the sun but he wouldn't go for it unless I threw in a little something more than the internet. I still think it's a fair trade! Both bring joy and allow for hours of entertainment. Also, I don't remember the last time I saw the sun so really . . . come on. Think of someone else for a change and GIVE ME THE SUN. All this rain makes me want to nap constantly, something I have no problem with but I doubt my boss would like it if I curled up under my desk and slept all afternoon.

Speaking of napping, have I mentioned how much I love my new bed? Because I do. Love. It. I wish I could spend all day in it, but again, something tells me my boss wouldn't like it if I called in sleepy. Some weekend mornings? I'll get up and brush my teeth and check my e-mail and wander around the apartment trying not to trip over Phoebe, and then I'll look over at my bed, the covers still sleep-tussled, and I'll think, "hmm, that looks nice . . . I think I shall lie down for a moment to collect my thoughts." And so I'll flop down face first in a pile of comforter and when I wake up it's suddenly one in the afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas. But technically, since I'd already gotten up and brushed my teeth, it's not like I was just getting out of bed at one. It was a catnap that totally snuck up on me and you can't fight those!

SPEAKING of sleeping . . . I couldn't last night. Well, I mean I slept a little. I stayed up too late reading and then riiiiiight as I was on the cusp of sleep, my cell phone made that little, trilling noise that means I got a text message and I couldn't just NOT read it. That's crazy talk! So I read it, considered responding, realized that would be a lot of work, and then fell into a crazy, crazy dreamland. Seriously. These dreams were IN. SANE. I don't want to talk about it because I feel like you all already suspect that I am crazy, but telling you about these dreams would just prove it to you. I SWEAR. Oh, and also? I think Heidi and I have officially been living together for too long because she told me she had a zombie nightmare the other night. Which means I have passed along my zombie-phobia. Which is a totally logical phobia because zombies are scary. Seriously.

Dear Internets, did you have a good weekend? Mine was fantastic. I did nothing. Except I did a load of laundry. And went to the library. And read almost a whole book (yay, maybe I am no longer borderline retarded!). AND I showered both days, even though yesterday I showered and then immediately put my pajamas back on. Whatever. I also watched about a million movies, including but not limited to: Someone Like You (eh), Syriana (The Clooney!), Dead Poets Society (see previous entry), Steel Magnolias (shut up), Under the Tuscan Sun (Marcello!), and Shopgirl. OK, and I had really low expectations for Shopgirl (don't ask me why I rented it, then) but I loved it. LOVED IT. I have such a nerd girl crush on Jason Schwartzman; I don't know why. It is inexplicable. THAT WHICH CANNOT BE EXPLAINED.

I have obviously run out of things to say, so I'm just going to back away slowly. Bye.

i'll sleep when i'm dead

I think my body is trying to see how little sleep I can function on before I a) crumple into a delicious, delicious nap on my desk, b) kill a patient with my BARE HANDS, c) hallucinate that I am being attacked by zombies, accidentally killing a patient and then crumpling into a delicious, delicious nap on my desk. I'm leaning toward c.

He says no one's going to fancy a girl with thighs the size of big tree trunks. Not a nice guy, actually, in the end.

I apologize for that last post. What the hell was I talking about? I don't even know. Jenny's head falling off? WTF?

I haven't really been sleeping lately so much as lying in bed staring at the ceiling wishing I was sleeping (I wish I had a dollar for every time I typed that sentence), so I'm fairly certain I wrote that entry in some sort of fugue state or waking nightmare or something. I don't know.

I don't think I should neglect to mention that, while I was not an official contestant in NaBloPoMo (aka NaNoHoMoMoFoToto), I DID, in fact, post every day this month. I feel this warrants some kind of prize, no? No? Fine. Today is the last day of November, right? IT IS! I win! The game is called I WIN!

I really think today might be the day I kill a patient with my BARE HANDS. I feel it in my bones. I've talked about killing people with my BARE HANDS in the last two posts, but don't worry. That's just what no sleep does to me. I promise I (probably) won't kill anyone, bare hands or otherwise.

I've been thinking about joining a gym. But it's expensive. And I have the feeling that I would be paying for the membership card and the benefit of saying, "hey, I belong to that gym, but I've never been there," as I drive past.

I actually addressed some Christmas cards last night! I put them in the envelopes and everything! Of course, I don't have any stamps and I'm still working on getting some addresses from my friends, because WHO KNEW that my system of writing people's addresses on little slips of paper and then using those slips of paper for coasters or bookmarks wasn't actually a good system? The more you know. In other news, maybe I should ask for an address book for Christmas. By the way, there is still plenty of time to get your own Christmas card.

Lalala, GUESS WHAT, friends? Tomorrow is Friday. Oh. Happy. Day.