But still, maybe if I had known somehow, how tiring it would be. How mentally un-invigorating it was. Maybe if I’d known that it would make me want to sleep for days, or drink for weeks, or consider taking several illicit drugs at once, maybe I could have prevented my mental instability in the first place. Then again, it’s not like you can explain the pros and cons of creativity versus insanity to a three year old. But it’s a nice idea, to think about what it might be like to have a life where you are not constantly drained of energy and life force. To have a day when you aren’t scrambling to figure out what your own brain is thinking, or where your own thoughts are going. To have a day where you remember what your agenda was, and how to do difficult tasks like walking in a straight line, or breathing through your nose. It’s a challenge just to stay employed when you would rather be playing video games, or watching cartoons on TV while you remain in your pajamas all day and eat nothing but ice cream and pizza. And maybe a bowlful of Doritos. It’s a bit of a stretch to answer questions like “what’s wrong?” or “how are you doing?” when you honest-to-god don’t know the answer. How do you explain to people that you are just a ten year old in a forty year old woman’s body?
So back to the exhausting part. God I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. People have commented on how bad I look this week, which is always flattering, and even though I’ve felt sick and wondered about having the flu, I reckon it’s mostly lack of sleep. And my therapist says I have dark circles under my eyes that she’s never seen before. Of course she has only known me for about a year, so she isn’t familiar with this routine. The insomnia. The monthly cycles of sleep/don’t sleep; stay up ‘till the Wicked hours of the night, then sleep ‘till noon; go to bed early and wake up too soon and not be able to fall asleep at night. She doesn’t know about these familiar habits; or at least we haven’t emphasized them much to her. She seems to think we need to take our meds, and see our doctor, and maybe that will help. I tried to tell her. I tried to explain that what I needed was a good pint of tequila, or a shot of whiskey, or even just a couple of beers. She laughs. “No, that won’t be good for work,” she says. Who said anything about work? I said BEER. I’m sure I enunciated it properly. B-EE-EEE-R.
I don’t know why they haven’t come up with a discount rate for insomniacs or crazies, verifiable by one’s therapist. I’d like to present a coupon to my nearest liquor store worker: “This Coupon entitles the Bearer to the largest possible bottle of Tequila on the Premises. Said Bearer will receive a 25% discount on purchase of such Bottle, owing to a lack of mental awareness which only said Tequila can replenish. Please consider this a Medicinal Purchase, and Frequent Drinker Miles apply. In dire situations, Beer of choice may be substituted for Tequila, but must then be accompanied by several packs of cigarettes or containers of Hookah tobacco. For any questions regarding the validity of this coupon, or the seriousness of the Bearer’s insanity, first
1. Look at Bearer of Coupon.
2. Notice dazed look on face and vacant expression in eyes.
3. Note the rocking back and forth motion as Bearer re-counts money in pocket for a fourth time.
4. If all else does not convince you, ask for card and number of therapist and call immediately.
i just came up with my favorite new phrase in response to my girlfriend’s comment. she says she’s exhausted. she says basically ugh, it’s going to be an AWESOME day. (read sarcasm into this, as she is very tired) (exhausted in fact)
(enter new phrase) “what you mean is, it’s going to be an EXHAUSTome day”.
(but not for me, i mean, i just did yoga, so i should be full of energy today. after my nap)
I think the tissue companies created allergies. i’m pretty sure back in the victorian ages there weren’t allergies. if something upset your sinuses or tickled your throat, i’m fairly certain it went straight to Tuberculosis or the Bubonic Plague. none of this pussy-footing around with runny noses and scratchy throats and voices that sound like you are running a late night love-line talk radio program. tickle, scratch, nose turns black and falls off; that’s how it used to be.
of course now that we have ’tissue’ companies, and all those fancy fun boxes of fluffy white, well it seems like everything around can make you sick; dogs, cats, horses, dust, fake Scotch tape that never works as good as the real stuff. grrrrr…
i guess i could just blame it on winter. or better yet, that stupid groundhog who never does what he is told.
so i was going to put up a blog about how irritating it is to have awesomely great ideas when you are in the shower and can’t write these ideas down. and i wrote a little blog, knowing full well that i’d done a similar blog to this a while back.
“well,” i said to myself, “i’ll just link to that previous blog, in case anyone wants to read the originaller version”. (did you like that word?)
but then, after reading the FIRST blog, i’m like, “huh. that one is waaay better than this one today”.
so then, CRAP – outwitted and outwritten by my own former self! damn, i hate showing myself up with myself!
said link to silly post https://accidentalhappiness.wordpress.com/2010/05/07/dictaphonehead/
pretty sure i live next door to an elephant.
i don’t recall the elephant moving in. i mean – i’m pretty sure that’s something i’d remember. it would take a lot of effort to get an elephant into the complex we live in, especially considering that it occupies an upstairs apartment. so no, i don’t remember this happening.
still, an elephant seems to live next door to me. early in the morning this creature careens into his or her kitchen and fumbles around in the cupboards, eventually making what i imagine is peanut flavored coffee. then the critter rambles up and down the hall, stomping mice under its huge trash-can-lid-sized feet. and sometimes i hear Dumbo crashing down the stairs and out into the parking lot, finally driving off in some sort of SUV.
it’s impossible to sleep when this creature is awake and moving about. and i’m mildly worried that one day this being will stomp its way straight through the floor of their home (my ceiling) and crash-land into my lap. maybe i need to go to my local library and check to see if there is an Eloise Etiquitte Book for Zoo Animals and Other Noisy Beasts.
I don’t know if anyone else has made this discovery, or if it’s just me. But:
mosquitoes are assholes.
I totally get that there is a circle of life, and that we are all sustained by one another. I also understand that vampires and insects are apt to want to nibble on me, because my blood is so sugary sweet and apparently I taste like cinnamon or honey. Who could resist that?
But seriously, do you have to go up into the highest part of my thigh, next to the Holy Land to get a bite to eat? I’ve got perfectly good skin in other, less inconvenient places. Now I look like I have crabs because I’m fidgeting all day, trying to rub my legs together to scratch in an awkward area. And thanks also for leaving bites on my ass, because it’s always attractive to be scratching there too. I look like a fucking baseball player.
So yeah, mosquitoes are complete assholes, and if I knew where their private parts were I’d stick ‘em with a pin to see how they liked it.
I’m tired today.
My body feels like it’s forgotten to sleep for about forty years, and it’s finally realized this omission.
But my heart feels this way today as well. Like my heart is walking down a lonely, rainy street and spies something, and bends down to pick it up. My heart looks curiously at this newfound thing, but doesn’t seem to know what it is. My heart rolls this thing around in its hand, and it feels uncomfortable. It hurts. It’s sharp and painful. It makes my heart sad. My heart doesn’t know what this is, doesn’t recognize it, but puts this thing in its pocket and continues on its way, until it finds something else that makes it sad, and lonely, and confused.
And with pockets full of unknown sorrows, my heart continues its journey, crying as it goes.
i’m sitting here at the dreaded Laundromat, not certain what i should write. it’s hot. and slightly humid. and very hummy. the WiFi here is down, so i can’t play with my superpoke pet. it stinks, here, the washers smelling like old moldy pants and sour batches of grapes. i hate laundry day.
not that i hate doing laundry, because i rather enjoy the task itself. as a kid i did my own laundry, and remember carefully measuring the detergent into the washer. i’m one of those people that has to fill the washer halfway up with water, add detergent, and stir gently, not shake, to mix all the liquids together properly, like i’m making a secret martini for James Bond.
but some days it’s just too much. too many people at the matt, too much folding, too many quarters to stick in slots that aren’t NEARLY as fun as the ones at the casino.
some days, i think i should just be a nudist.
Today is a downloading day for me. I have these moments, and sometimes days, pretty regularly. It’s not that I’m depressed, because I’m not really. How can I be depressed on a gorgeous day like today? The trees are phenomenally gorgeous, sprinkling my walk with more color than my eyes can consume. Green trees, yellow trees, trees that want to be orange, red, green, burgundy and ochre all at the same time. Some clumps are all bold and brilliant, and other patches of trees are soft, silvery, mauve. The brilliant blue sky sports whispy clouds that float through the air with no apparent agenda or time frame. It’s a gorgeous, warm, relaxed October day, and I am downloading. I often have direction, goals or intentions. I wake up thinking about a project I need to work on, a task I need to complete, chores I have been putting off or a hobby I want to get back to. I have to work out, I have to make a grocery list, I need to repair a broken earring or watch a movie rental before it’s due back. I might have social obligations or volunteer duties to attend to. And usually, my brain is full of ideas, thoughts, aspirations, longings, chatter, songs and intense curiosity about everything around me. On downloading days I have none of this. I’m neither tired nor energetic. I’m neither depressed nor excited. I have no specific desires or ambitions, and often find myself indecisive, not sure which direction to go. I call these downloading days because it’s like my brain has had enough frenetic activity lately and needs an hour (or twenty) to just buzz. The stuff in my brain is just rattling around and looking for somewhere to land. It’s like I’m downloading something on my computer, and I just have to wait. I can’t do anything else because whatever is downloading just isn’t done yet, so I sit and watch football, or go for a long walk, or talk emotionlessly to someone about nothing of interest. It’s just a day. A beautiful, gorgeous, perfect day; but a day I might enjoy better had my brain been fully engaged.