Listening to: The Killers
Today I like: the tiny little unexplained bruise on my arm, it's a real cutie!
I've gone and done it again. Somehow I'm off my sleep schedule, which means I'm off my rocker. I sleep from 10am-1pm if I'm lucky, spend the afternoon and evening literally sick and tired, and then at 2am when my body should be kicking into mandatory sleep mode, I catch this "second wind" and I'm buzzed all night.
I try to keep the music quietish for Jason's sake, he has to get up at the ungodly hour of 10 to go to work...but consideration of that kind takes a functioning brain wave or two, and I have none.
What do people do all night long? I'm not much of a TV person even during prime-time hours, so it's out of the question now, although I suspect I'd get a lot of those coloured bars and not much else.
I do some good blogging at night, but I still have trouble sitting for very long, so that limits me.
Usually one of two things happens, both of which will result in me waking Jason up at 3am.
1) I let things get quiet, and soon the noises of the house start to freak me out, my imagination, which is unstoppable, just runs rampant, and within 10 minutes I'm running for the bedroom to make Jason check the laundry room for boogeymen.
2) I let things get loud, I turn on some good tunes and start extreme-cleaning, or dancing, or working out. Either way, I get myself all riled up, and suddenly I'm foaming at the mouth for sex.
So Jason starts to have bags under his eyes, and people say "Gee, are you having trouble sleeping lately?" to which he responds "No, but my wife is." And I strongly suspect he peppers that response with some choice expletives. I feel badly, but not badly enough to cut it out. Besides, this is his last day of the week, and he'll have 3 days off to catch up on his sleep.
And yes dear, before you leave me a nasty comment, I know that's faulty logic. When Jason is off work, I expect that he'll stay up and keep me company during the night. So we can have toga parties together. And invite friends over to do parachutes. And play the 'put this in your mouth' game. Or just lie on the floor and think about how funny the world is, or how screwed up my family is, or how fucked up that book about the bible stories I just finished reading was...I mean, I'm pretty sure that the Noah story is supposed to be about more than just how smelly the ark was.
But for now, I am left to my own devices. Which means, I get into the freezer to finish up all the half-empty bottles that we got into on the weekend...and then I move on to the daiquiri bucket...the slush bucket...the fridge rail...the liquor cabinet...and then the naked hilarity begins.
Once Jason woke up at 5 am because who can listen to James Brown quietly?, only to discover me stark naked and re-painting the bathroom, with so much rye coursing through my veins that the yummy Crown Royal smell that I gave off overpowered the paint fumes.
Life is short, it's meant to be fun.
I should be bottled or something.
But anyway, no painting tonight. I was just dancing around with the music at a practically reasonable volume, and suddenly I was like :
Apparently I've reached that stage in my life where I need a sports bra if I'm going to dance around like that. Dammit.