Ann Arbor, I rarely question you. You’re fairly clean. You’ve got good food. You are a little bit pompous and you fall on the expensive-r side of the street but all-in-all, I thought we knew most everything about each other. Except for this: why, on your walls, your curbs, your parking meters, your park benches, etc…is the word “duck” graffitied in cursive? What does this mean? Are you trying your damnedest to warn us all of flying objects we should dunk from? Maybe you’re just spelling out your love for these bread loving birds. I have no problem with your expression.
Please, just tell me what it means.
I got to sleep until 5AM!
For whatever reason I didn’t wake up until 5 today–my body has been attacking my REM somewhere between 1 and 4AM but for whatever reason today I got to sleep in! woo hoo
Of course, I woke up in the middle of my brain spouting off a favorite 80’s hit you may remember, “Don’t worry, Be Happy”. Thanks, Brain.
Brains are weird.
I don’t know about you but my brain sometimes has nothing to do with me.
It’s like me and my brain are conjoined twins and it’s just hosting off me. Sometimes I have no idea what my brain is going to do.
It even calls me names.
Yesterday I wanted some potato chips in the kitchen. I was sitting in the living room and I thought “oh, yum, there are potato chips on top of the refrigerator–I should get them” and then I said to myself “nah, I don’t feel like it”.
Now that part is perfectly normal, right? We all have little internal conflicts, but here is the part I’m not sure of. The “abnormal” part, if you will.
After the “nah, I don’t feel like it” part something/someone in my head said “Bitch!”
My brain totally cursed me out for not feeding it some Frito Lays.
Am I in the early stages of schizophrenia? maybe it’s just sleep deprivation…
Purging my sins was apparently not what the Universe needed in order to let me get some shut eye.
I am dead tired at 9pm these days from lack of sleeping through the night – I want to sleep so badly but I force myself to stay up, past the witching hour of 9 o’clock PM, and be a cranky 2 year old. If I go to sleep at 9pm I’ll be up by midnight with my body telling me “hey, thanks for the nap. let’s do some Yoga.”
I just need to make it til at least 11pm, at least.
So I do…..much to my boyfriends anguish–he is suffering through my bout of insomniatic lunacy as much as I am. And what happens?
By 2am my eyes pop open and I’m thinking about if I should make dinner Friday night or just go out to eat. Seriously, when my eyes open the thought of dinner is already inside my head; as if the thought of Friday night’s dinner is what woke me. And now me and my chicken & asparagus thoughts are up and wandering the house.
Things to do at 2am when you cannot wake your boyfriend:
disinfecting the kitchen counter with Scrubbing Bubbles wipes
making a grocery shopping list for future dinner woes
eating leftover popcorn that you made at 9pm to keep yourself awake
folding laundry that has been in the dryer since Tuesday
cursing life
cleaning your jewelry
& last but not least, painting your toenails
Am I already making my transition into Senior Citizen mode? I’m 29!! I’ve heard it all goes down hill by 30. Is this it?
The past several nights I have been waking up between 1:15Am-4:20Am. I’ll be sound asleep, as far as I know, and then wake up as if I had dozed off at work or something. I am suddenly WIDE AWAKE and my brain is ticking quickly. Two nights ago when I woke up my brain was loudly singing a Chuck Berry song.
No Joke. “RIDIN’ ALONG IN MY AUTOMOBILE/MY BABY BESIDE ME AT THE WHEEL” AAAAAAAAHHHHH!
How the hell did THAT get in there??
Then I lay awake for hours thinking about how I should eat more salads and names that I like for future children (no I’m not pregnant nor plan to be any time soon).
Eventually I get up and read a book but I hate being a quitter and not falling back to sleep. Sleeping is what I do best and if I can’t sleep I am nothing to this world.
I’m not sure why this is happening–although I’ve had A LOT of time to think on it and I’m hypothesizing that I’ve done something wicked and therefore must not rest.
So….
I will offer a confession of my “sins” and maybe this purging will cure my insomnia. (I’m only going back to when the insomnia started–not to childhood. that list wouldn’t end)
1. I was 20 minutes late for work a couple days ago (but I emailed my boss and told her)
2. I ate taco bell last night, which is a personal sin against myself
3. I flicked somebody off but I hid it
4. I told my boyfriend I’d break up with him if he didn’t quit working for someone I hate
5. I bought a pair of jeans from JCPenny
6. I drink wine nonstop
7. I tivo Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
8. I read Twilight and told everyone I hated it but I secretly liked it
9. I bought a wedding gift for a friend and didn’t wrap it–I gave it to her in a Target bag
10. I liked stabbing the bus driver with the epi-pen
11. I lied to someone and said I liked their blouse but really it looked like barf
*Shew* okay, I hope tonight I will drool relentlessly in a shameless coma now that I’ve purged my sins.
How would you like to really boost your weight loss motivation?…without really having to lose weight. Yesterday while stumbling around the internet like a drunken surfer I ran into this site: Weightview. I am so tempted to put my picture in and click “20 lbs lighter” however I don’t have a good full length picture of myself to get a truly excellent idea of how fantastic I’d look as a starved person. From now on I plan on taking nothing but full length pictures, running them through this sent-from-God site and then posting them on Facebook. Sure, thats me. Kodak is the best diet i ever went on.
Sunday’s feel like funeral days to me. they are mopey and dull and looming ahead of them is 5 days of living without saturday. Sunday is a day for mourning saturday. My sunday’s usually consist of trying not to waste the day counting down how many hours I have until work starts. depressing, huh? They are just so drab and although they make great lounging days there is a darkness to them–like sitting at a funeral and wishing it would get over so you can go eat and leave.
Usually my Sundays consist of:
1. sleeping until 11 and then feeling guilty b/c I didn’t get up earlier. I hate being unproductive. but seriously, if i were awake before 11 i’d just mope about listlessly.
2. laundry.
3. making a yummy meal. i view the sunday meal as sort of a death rowers last meal. only, if all goes well and I don’t expire at my place of work during the week, i get another last meal next sunday.
4. reading a book. and occasionally writing.
5. wincing every time i think of going to work
6. not getting dressed. I wear a white trash t-shirt that says, “What? I’m out of bed and dressed, what more do you want from me?” my boyfriend hates it and i can’t help but keep it around even though i hate it too.
7. staring off in oblivion. almost all sundays include some form of hangover. this hasn’t changed for about 8 years. 1/2 of sunday is a fuzzy headache and a blank, empty stare at the wall –this is actually in-depth contemplation of my station in life.
8. brain straining. thoughts like this: if i did just get up and leave could i honestly be a cleaning lady in hawaii? would hawaii piss me off just as much as this place? how come the US health care system is so SHITTY–why do i have to have a job in order to have health insurance? that is why so many americans stay in jobs they hate.
9. non-alcoholic calming. after the brain straining i have to come back to terms with being myself and going back to a predictable, unwelcome week of blah blah blah.
10. channel flipping. sitting in that part of sunday that falls before or after oblivious staring. usually falling on the food network and watching that annoying ass guy with the dyed blond hair… and ninja warrior.
that’s how my sunday goes. how do you spend your sunday?
The past couple of days have been crass to me. Without going on and on by bemoaning the plethora of events that zapped my inspiration and energy, I’ll just tell you that I had to run, yes run, up the stairs to my bedroom at 6pm yesterday so I could hide under the covers. I was afraid the universe would tackle me with another blatant attack.
It’s up there, the Universe, leaning over Itself, staring through opera glasses to judge–is that Amy down there lolly-gagging and smiling? Is she trying to be happy???
**BOOM** **ZAP** **POW**
all street lights fail, beer bottles explode, internet connection down, dishwasher dead, credit card unpaid, pants don’t fit, boyfriend clueless, spider on KITCHEN table skitters toward me…
I’m not joking. all incongruousness vied me within about 2 hours. it was literally like someone with power saw that my day wasn’t flawed and they Had to put a stop to it. well, my unflawed wagon is fixed. it’s totally fucked up now. thank you.
there is goal-tending. multiple fouls, with every movement in basketball there is some sort of whistle loving referee there to call out the damn sloppiness. there are players who are “old as shit” and ones bigger than Goliath, Garnett should be on Heroes. there are allioops, bench stats–(how warm the bench gets?) there is a lot of this: lanky orangutan arms thrown toward the sky, mouths gaping, heads shaking back and forth cartoon style (think the Wylie coyotes head as the ringer inside a bell) eyes darting from coach to ref in disbelief–This is bullshit, I did not just ram my Goliath orangutan mustang of a body full force into yours, skid you across the acre of waxed floor boards and then float by innocently like a turd just flushing on down the toilet. Not on purpose anyway. Coach are you going to do something about this??– *shoulders raised like the hair on the back of a dog ready to fight*.
The coach is consumed in a sweat induced, red faced eyeball brawl with a referee who doesn’t care. The referees are clearly thinking about when the hell this game is going to finish so they can get home and watch Golf. works sux.
…and oops, all that shite about fouls and instant replays and jeering and pointing and pushing and violations and time-outs, that was 30 seconds ago—the crowd is up…balloons are waving, sneakers screech worse than Saved by the Bell’s pubescent jew, rebounds OH OH, they’re up and running and OOOOH he’s hanging off the basket, he’s dangling like a decal in a rear-view mirror. the crowd is a mosh pit. something great must have happened, some unheard of play–is he a paraplegic and these were his first steps? did The Beatles just walk in?
wait, is the court getting an Extreme Makeover????
no, no, i see. 2 points were scored. oh wow, now they are tied. how unbelievably miraculous.
oh hey, it’s half-time. lets talk all about ‘being aggressive’ with the men in 3 piece suits who only talk about basketball because they can’t play it, lets analyze what goes through the minds of the high top wearing men, lets re-watch how they run here, no there, now back here, wait–up here, now he fell down but He’s UP, so are his shoulders. he’s appalled! How could you call that?? He did nothing of the sort. This is preposterous.
words like “leverage”, “jump shot”, “gamble”, “dominate”, “rebounding”, “defense”, “worn down”
ok. done.
the itunes commercial with Coldplay is only going to play 2983 more times and I’ve only seen 3430 of them.
