Still not sleeping right.
I managed 3 hours yesterday, but they were in the middle of the day, 3-6pm. Actually, make that more like 3 1/2 hours, because apparently I was a little resistant to getting up at 6 when Jason tried to wake me. I don't even remember him coming in, which is not surprising since I've been walking around here like I expect to be crowned Miss Zombie 2005 for the past week, and 3 little hours just don't cut it. Logically, I should have just hoarded all the sleep I could get, but I keep thinking that if I deprive myself during the day, I'll have to sleep at night. Uh, no. Not happening.
On the upside, (and this will only mean anything to Anners), I have been reading a lot of those books you sent over. However, Memoirs of a Geisha probably set be back in sleep because I have been since obsessed with the thought that a man's eel will spit in his favourite dark, warm cave to mark his territory. Gross. So I was thinking, what kind of book will put me to sleep? And then I remembered (can't believe I didn't think of this before!) that there is one kind of book that never failed to put me to sleep - textbooks! I broke my nose like 8 times while I was in University....when you fall asleep holding a 30 000 page hard-covered tome, that's a lot of dead weight smashing into your face when your grip gives way to sleep! So for old time's sake, I got out an old favourite, Death and Dying. Perfect bedtime reading, right? Wrong. Still no luck.
So I got up, but I have this persistent condition that I like to call "Vaseline eyes", and I think you can imagine what that's all about. The world is one big smudge when I'm tired. I'm a bit of a hazard. And my neck is on strike. This morning, it just got fed up and decided that it wasn't going to support my head anymore, so my face went for a swim in the cereal. Perfect. My arms just do not have the strength to shampoo cornflakes out of my hair right now.
So to try to gather enough oomph to be somewhat productive, even for a few hours, I turned on some really invigorating music - Jesus Christ Superstar. I mean, who doesn't like to Windex to all those Hosannas? Except I don't actually have that soundtrack, so I have to sing every verse myself. And believe me, that's not normally a problem. I seem to know a lot of words to religious show tunes for some reason. And I'm a singer for sure, especially while I'm cleaning. But my heart just wasn't in it today. That's how I know this is serious. I mean, for cripe's sake!
I was making out a grocery list, which is one of my most favourite things to do. I love making lists, and I love grocery shopping, and I love love love to cook, so normally when Jason thinks I need a cheer-up, he gets out my grocery list stationary, my meal plan, and any nano-lists that I've got going. But after half-heartedly jotting down a few items, I spaced out, lost 20 minutes that I can't account for, and finally just declared that all I needed was rice. So, I sent Jason out for rice. And Pepsi. When I'm tired I develop an irrational fear of running out of Pepsi (even though all I drink is water, because my stomach can't decide if it's morning, noon, or night). I end up sending Jason out a lot when I'm tired because if he's here, he's snoring. It's like being on a diet and hanging out at a hot-dog eating contest all day long: torture!
Meanwhile, I've been blubbering like a baby at the drop of a hat! Try dropping a hat, it's sadder than you'd think. You'd think that Jason would want to take care of poor me (okay, you may also be thinking that Jason should be kicking me to the curb, but for shit's sake, let's go with the first one), but he doesn't. Yesterday he said to me that I should lie down, we could watch Garden State, and he would brush my hair, which I love. Halfway through the movie, when I was feeling nice and sleepy, he took advantage of me. He gathered up all the blue hairs in the brush, made a big hair ball, and dropped it on my face. I should have realized he was far too quiet, but I didn't. I'm out of it. My reaction time is slow, so I couldn't even swat it away. It got right in my eye and freaked me the hell out. Long story short, 40 minutes later, the EMT guy said my heart rate and bp were slowly returning to normal, and that I should "try and get some rest." Gee thanks.
Another thing about being tired is that it always seems like a good time to drink. And then Wham comes on, puts the boom-boom into my heart, and there's no turning back. Before I know it, I'm waking Jason up at 4 am so we can go get me a milkshake, and he uses the Harry Carey voice at the drive-thru and tells me that McDonalds workers are required to hand you the bag with the big M facing you. I'm easily amused in this state. When I'm not crying, that is.
And of course I'm grumpy as hell. I was in my email yesterday, and saw that the maroon g-mail giveaways was finally gone. Good. Except then I noticed a new box on the lefthand side of the screen: g-mail invites: 50 left. 50! WTF!* So between my 2 accounts, I have 100 invites. Fabulous. The thing is, back when we only had 6, they were trying to make it seem like an exclusive club. Lame. But trying to get me to sign up 100 new members? I don't think so, Google. Do your own dirty work, or else put me on the pay roll. I was so mad, I almost called Jason on the emergency line at his work. I only stopped myself because I thought in telling him about it, I might start to cry again, and I had just ended my 20-minute crying jag from the last time Kristie Alley called me chubby. I mean, lay off, okay? It's really hard to do cardio when you're tired all the time. Gawd.
* Note, WTF will henceforth represent What the Flip?!?