Who needs sleep?

I went to bed a few hours ago content. Talking about everything and nothing and a few laughs before bed are always the way to go. Normally I would drift off to sleep right away. Sometimes I have to wonder if I’m narcoleptic. The only thing that leads me to doubt that are those times that things start filtering through my mind robbing me of sleep. They aren’t always bad things, far from it. Life tends to filter through my head when the safety of the covers and the darkness of my room demand it.

Sometimes the only one you have to talk to is yourself. Sometimes you are the only one who’ll understand, who doesn’t need the back-story, and who wont be hurt by said thoughts. How would you explain to someone thoughts that aren’t yet concrete? What if what you need/want to think and talk about involves the very people who you’d normally run to? Or what if you are like me, and reluctant to allow someone that close of an examination? They may not like what they see... I certainly don’t a lot of the time. Besides, sometimes I’d hardly know where to begin.

I’d like to think that I can be there for someone when needed. However in reality that’s rather selfish of me because I wont often allow them the same privilege. When you spend a lot of your life people watching you tend to shy away from that moment when the spotlight hits you. It’s easy to hide in someone else’s problem, and easy to hide if you’re content to observe. So this is me hiding in the open tonight and talking with the voices in my head. Heh.

“Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep.” -- Fran Lebowitz

Crud...

Today I would have sworn that I was cursed, walked under 36 ladders, broke a few mirrors, and pissed off a testy leprechaun. I woke up to a normal day, until of course I tripped over one of the 3 billion puppy toys scattered about discovering that I’m too old to be attempting the splits. Half crawling half stumbling I made it to the shower... after cursing like a sailor and uselessly admonishing a curious puppy about leaving things all over. Once in the shower I thought I was safe... that the bad luck that loomed couldn’t touch me. I did what anyone does, I began to sing. If you didn’t already know, I’m the worst singer possible... apparently my shower agreed. One second I’m heading into a particularly bad rendition of “Hey Mickey” complete with a little head bobbing action, and the next second I’m being smacked between the eyes with the showerhead that popped off.... That shut me up... until I started cursing once again.

I escaped the shower with my life and started to search around on the back of the toilet for my glasses... I have the vision of a 90 year old. My hand was feeling around on the cold porcelain until I heard a *plop*. I froze.... And cursed. That could only mean one thing.... one disgusting thing. Fumbling towards the sink I managed to find my contacts and put them in. There was no way in hell I was going to go fishing for my glasses blind. I find it interesting that when I drop things into places they shouldn’t be I try to turn my head... as if that will make it any less disgusting. Um not really. At this point the puppy thought it was play time and dared to bring the toy I had tripped on into the bathroom.... TRAITOR!

The fact that I got to work without killing myself was a small miracle. However after almost falling asleep while typing (I’m just getting over that damn cold) I thought it would be better just to head home.... Too bad I lost my keys. So again I was cursing until I found them in the plant beside my desk. If I didn’t get home quickly I was scared that I would cause a major catastrophe... like setting my hair on fire.

Eventually I settled in for a nap. God I love a good nap.... unless the phone rings 65 hundred times. But thankfully my neighbor took the pup so I could sleep. Well that’s what she tells me. I think she just likes having something around willing to watch her “shows” with her. I think at some point I fell asleep... thank god. Then guess what... the phone rang. However at least this time it was a person that I love talking to so it was a much needed bright spot of the day of doom. Just then as I'm finishing my conversation, my dog was brought home... and she greeted me by scratching my nose off. I guess I didn’t need that anyway.

I finally got online later in the evening... and no I didn’t burn the place down making dinner. That’s shocking in and of itself. While chatting with someone I spilled my vitamin water. Crap. Standing up I tried to clean it up... messes by the computer are a big no no. Sadly the floor tends to get rather slippery when wet. So for the millionth time that day I found myself on my ass. This time I even tried to brace my fall.... unfortunately I pulled out half the cords in the puter out in the process. So guess what? That’s right.... I was cursing.

I think a good measure of the day is how often you curse. This one tipped the scales. But really, once I get beyond the moment I can see the humor in it. My sore rear can’t... but I can. So here I am hoping that you can see the humor in your day.... or at the very least you too have a bright spot that you can cling to.

“I have six locks on my door all in a row. When I go out, I only lock every other one. I figure no matter how long somebody stands there picking the locks, they are always locking three.” -- Elayne Boosler

Trivial

Sometimes life is about the little things. I’m a huge fan of the little things, and I wonder why so many people choose not to see them. When people point out how much I love something small I always jokingly say, “simple mind simple pleasures.” And yes it’s a joke. But really I am rather simplistic. I don’t mean my intelligence or personality, just in wants and needs. I figure it’s rather masochistic to sit there waiting for some huge complicated thing when something small can warm your heart.

There’s nothing better than heading to your mailbox and coming away with something that isn’t a bill or someone making you some baked goods. I love going to a movie and sitting there wondering where I know a voice from suddenly to realize that the voice of the fairy godmother in Shrek 2 was none other than Jennifer Saunders from Abfab. If you can make me laugh you immediately intrigue me. That’s so rare and such a small thing that it’s extremely powerful. I can spend hours with a web game or tinkering on my computer perfectly content with the world. Even hearing someone say in a voice that suddenly softens “goodnight” is incredible to me. It’s small yes, but whether it’s a friend or love it still makes you feel important.

Someone told me today, “Oh you’re so simple” in that scoffing and irritating way. It was as if they were saying I was incapable of deep emotions or thoughts because something silly amused me for hours. So what? I have serious issues and weight that sits on my shoulders. I wouldn’t want to know me if I didn’t use something good to balance it however small and trivial. Of course this is the same person, and we all have one of these people, that seems to make herself feel better if she can shred you down a bit. “How can you be in a good mood with blah going on?” It’s like they want to remind you to kill of whatever happiness you were allowing yourself.

This is how it is. The stuff has hit the fan, I know that... I don’t need your reminder. I don’t care if you think I should wallow or scream into the night. I don’t choose to live like you do and not find something.... ANYthing to be happy about or to amuse me if for a moment. I’m also not going to defend myself to you... I don’t much care what you think seeing as though your opinion of my life is so grand *rolling eyes*. I’ll just grab hold of those little things as my way of saying you can sod off. Not that you’d be bothering to read this anyway.

So really this isn’t about me asking for anyone to comment about me in a positive way... it's not needed. Just find something that will amuse you today for 10 mins and I’ll be happy. Spend your energy reading a good story, listening to some good music, talking to your friends, or just calling someone for no reason. Just do something that you’ll find enjoyable.

Oh and thanks for alla the well wishes folks... I’m feeling much better. Those who come here and read these words or are a part of my little online world are a good part of those things that bring me some happiness. So thank you.

“Happiness is your dentist telling you it won't hurt and then having him catch his hand in the drill.” -- Johnny Carson

Pass the tissues

Well this will be rather random and make no sense. That’s what happens when one uses an enormous amount of cold medicine and sleeps less than a bat with too much caffeine. I figure this could end up being either amusing or make no sense what-so-ever. Either way I blame the cold medicine.... too bad we can’t do that everyday of our lives eh? (And yes before anyone says anything I just have a small cold not pneumonia.)

First of all I have recently discovered that while sick I seem to lose the ability to think. And I’m not talking about deep philosophical discussions either... No, I’m talking about paying for my food in the drive through and then driving off. Nothing makes you feel more like a dumbass than some poor employee running after you to hand you the sub sandwich that you probably shouldn’t be eating anyway. What made this incident particularly bad was that I had to go inside and tell the counter person that yes I was indeed the moron that took off without their food. I really don’t think the snickering I heard was necessary, but I probably deserved it. However, if you think that this is an isolated thing you’d be wrong. Sadly I have done this several times. I’m also the person that walks into the drugstore with no clue as to why I was there in the first place.

Going to the drugstore while sick is an interesting experience. Now if you are lucky enough to live with someone you probably don’t have to do this. So let me give you a run down of what it’s like. First of all you wander in trying not to look like death. I shall steal one of my favorite lines and say that you look like you were on deaths door but the bouncer wouldn’t let you in because you don’t look sexy enough. Yet you try to straiten out your sweats that have at least 3 holes in them and tuck the Kleenex you stalked up on for the drive back into your pocket. Sadly your sense of direction seems to be hindered so you just kind of wander around with no clue as to where to find the drugs.... you hope they will be the kind that shoot out of a gun and could take down an elephant. They have to keep the elephant tranquilizers in there someplace right?

Finally you find the cold medicine aisle. You would have found it faster but the employees see you coming and scatter not wanting to catch whatever it is that made you look like the walking dead... that and the fact that you aren’t exactly Mary Sunshine at this point. You stand in front of what looks to be 8 billion boxes of goo, pills, sprays, liquids, and snake oils all guaranteed to take away whatever ails you. It’s the same feeling one must get when standing at the foot of a small mountain.... like Everest. You have no idea what to do. The music that is drifting over the speakers is making you want to sway. “I can do this” you chant to yourself. So you do what everyone before you has done. You pick up the most colorful box and attempt to read what symptoms it’s for.... a process that would be much easier if you hadn’t drained what was left of the last bottle of cough syrup a half hour ago and your swaying that is making the letters move about.

Here is where the real problem comes in. The blue box will fix your throat, the red your nose, the orange your sneezing and coughing but not the headache, the green will cure your runny nose, but yours is also stuffy which needs the yellow box. Here's where you just want to cry. What do you do? You can get them all... if you want to pickle yourself. No you need to make a choice. And there is no way in hell you are getting something that isn’t extra strength. Who buys something that might as well say, “This is a placebo, it won’t make you feel better, but it’s cherry flavored.” Then you have a sore throat so you know that if you get a pill it has to be smaller than a Buick... this leaves out 80% of your options. Now you just blindly grab a few options because you are getting rather tired and only one eye will stay open. You’ll just have to hope that when you get home you can figure out what the hell all these things do. You of course make sure to nab a package of cough drops even though in your kitchen drawer there is probably 3 others from the late 70’s. You are now ready to head to the counter and get home to your electric blanket and daytime television.

You head to the checkout line and realize that you need to blow your nose. Not the most pleasant thing for someone to witness. The problem is your hands are full. Now you have to become the irritating sniffer. Everyone knows what this noise means and gives you a 10 foot bubble of personal space as if your germs can’t reach outside your containment field. You get to the front of the line finally and plop everything on the counter. Looking up you notice that the checker looks like a camp counselor and you just know she will be chipper. For those of you that don’t know... sick people don’t want to deal with chipper. We want to kick you in the head, but we are too weak so we just sniff and fumble for a tissue and mentally curse your name.... Amber.... Bubbles... Kandy with a K... whatever.

We hand them the money with a shaking hand and nod to some asinine question like, “So are you not feeling well?” I should hope that people would assume that I'm sick and don’t just go gallivanting around town looking like an Adams Family reject. But you nod and attempt a smile as you snatch your bag away from them and their “have a nice day” smile. Stumbling to your car you start dreaming about being home already.

Once home you dump out your stash. It’s just like you used to do on Halloween except the candy on Halloween tastes better. You sift through just barely stopping yourself from taking one of everything. You find what you are searching for and take more than the recommended dosage. You don’t care now... What you're looking for is the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, favor, how the hell did I fall into this coma medicine. Now if you could just get the puppy to stop raiding the trash for Kleenex you’ll be happy.

“Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.” -- Erma Bombeck

Vegetate

The last couple days I’ve been a tad under the weather. Not a really big deal. What I find funny is that most people when sick vegetate in front of the television with a bowl of soup and a box of Kleenex. That would be a normal thing to do. I, because I am freakishly geeky, insist on spending that time with a box of Kleenex and tinkering on the computer. I was even looking for things to tinker with. There’s something about mindless work that makes me feel better. Oh don’t get me wrong... I was still able to catch 37 rerun episodes of the ‘Golden Girls’ on Lifetime. So I got my veg quota in. The reason I bother saying all this in case anyone was wondering why I changed the look of this here blog. It’s not really that I like this one better; it’s just that I needed a tinkering fix.

I’m not a very pleasant person when I’m not feeling well. I’m not saying that normally I’m a pearl of happiness or anything, but when sick I turn into a horrifying combination of a three toed sloth and Roseanne Barr. It’s an interesting combination and one that I’m sure will do wonders for my social life in general. I remember days when there was someone around when I wasn’t feeling well. And even though I was a pain in the ass and prolly resembled a groaning grumpy pile of Kleenex, it was still nice to have someone there. I’m not the type of person that wants to be coddled when sick. Toss the things I need at me and head for cover. I just wanna dwell in my own unhealthiness. But there was something about the knowledge that someone was within shouting distance. Maybe one day... Though half my problem is that first I would have to ask someone to be here even though the risk is that they can in fact say no. Until then I will happily continue to tinker about on this puter and try to discover if there is something really going on between Blanche and Rose.

“The New England Journal of Medicine reports that 9 out of 10 doctors agree that 1 out of 10 doctors is an idiot.” -- Jay Leno

No Potluck

I’m BACK!! Okay I have two things to apologize for here. First: Sorry it’s been so long. Sometimes we just need a break. Sometimes taking a step back is the only way to figure out where the hell you’re going.... Well that and a good map seeing as though I’d get lost going to the grocery store. Second: This is going to be a long post... so if you haven’t yet, grab a cup of coffee, hunker down, call in the children, get comfortable, and any other euphemism that means, this sucker is freaking long so be warned. (FYI: It’s 4 am so spelling and grammatical errors are a given tonight)

The Potluck Play

The 4th of July is full of them. All across this country this little tradition will take place. No matter where you are, where you go, who is around you, they’re all the same. It’s a strange phenomenon this potluck thing. I like to think of it as a play. Because no matter where you are the script and the characters are the same, much like life. Above all, as amazing as it sounds, you can tell a lot about someone if you look past their character in the Potluck Play.

Let me give you the basics shall I? There’re several groups of people that will attend every potluck. There’s a group of women that live for these events. I’ll call them the peacocks. They make a dish in an attempt to outdo another. It’s the same type of measurement that must take place in a men’s locker room. You’ll always have another group of people that love to be social, they’re the humming birds. They’ve brought an easy dish as they had to squeeze it in between their son’s soccer match and their daughter that needed to go to a birthday party. There’s an older category of people, the eagles, which are old enough to be grandparents. They love to bring in their old family recipe for some dish like enchiladas or fried chicken. There’s the lone soul, the crow, who comes to eat and run. They often forget to contribute food, but are always the first in line to get some. The last group, apart from the partners that were drug to the event by another, is the sparrows. They’re the average Joe. They bring something simple, try to be polite, make some small talk, and then get the hell outta Dodge. This is the largest group in the Potluck Play.

Now you are wondering why I am going into all this? Well, there’s a lot you can learn about people from these little socials. I’m not really a fan of the potluck. That probably has something to do with the fact that I would never subject someone to my cooking unless I was planning to kill them for the insurance money... I jest people stop worrying. So I sit there and do what I always do... I people watch. I watch as the peacocks strut about asking everyone who couldn’t escape their approach if they had tried whatever it is that they brought. Then of course you have to tell them that it was wonderful and could you please have the recipe. The crow chows down on his food in a desperate attempt to get the hell out of there without having to say a single word and just before the button on his pants pops off. The peacocks whisper about him and make snide remarks about him just being there in order to eat. The eagles are after the sparrows to eat more... we are either too skinny or haven’t had a home cooked meal in way too long. They want to see your face as you bite into their special dish. They pinch our cheeks and call us honey. The poor humming birds are running after their children who are on a little high because the hit the dessert table first.

That’s what you see if you look on the surface. No huge meaning... just normal potluck pandemonium. What would happen if we as people took a step back and bothered to look a bit deeper? It’s so easy to scoff at the crow that came just to eat. It’s easy to say he is rude when he eats more than his share and doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Would your opinion change of him if you knew that last year at about this time this man lost his wife of 30 years to cervical cancer? Would you bother to see that he was just so lonely he just needed to be around people but couldn’t bear to be social himself? Would the peacocks that judge him and cut him down care that this was one of the first times in a year he had something that wasn’t heated in the microwave oven? Would you now scoff or leave him to his sorrow and to his fledging hope that there is life after her death?

Would you find the humming bird more social and give them credit for attending if you found out that this was the first chance they had in weeks to attend a function that would involve adult conversation? Would you cut them some slack when their child ran past you spilling your soda down the front of your shirt if you knew that this was the first time in months that they didn’t have to worry about dinner? They could relax knowing where their children are and be able to breathe that rare relaxing breath that only a young parent appreciates. Would the peacocks hold back their bitterness that they brought something store bought if they knew the humming bird hadn’t sat down in over 13 hours?

If we really took the time and bothered to see, wouldn’t we see the eagle isn’t annoying in her tendency to nag or play mother hen to the sparrow? They aren’t being snobs for ignoring the strutting of the peacocks. Would we understand them a bit better if we knew that their own children only call on holidays as they now have families of their own? Would we let them pinch our cheeks if we knew they had so much love to give and only an empty house to give it to? I’d like to think that their dish, that had been handed down through generations of their family was a gift that they are bringing. They drew on their roots to create something that has been on their own family’s tables for years for a group of relative strangers. They in essence are looking for an outlet..... any outlet for their love.

The peacocks who have been so judgmental will be the butt of many jokes after the potluck ends. People will talk of their insanity and their caustic words. What if we knew that they just simply craved attention and don’t know of a better way of getting it? I’ll bet no one cared to know that Janet, the lead peacock, is stuck in a loveless marriage... Or that peacock #2 had her husband leave her after 7 years of marriage for another woman that made him feel younger. Would they gain our sympathy when we realized that they had nothing of their own, that these two woman need something to cling to, some small victory to give them some confidence. Yes, they show it in a horrible way... but does that make them any less deserving of a second look?

What about our little sparrow, folks like me? They hear the snickering and can see the eye rolling over the fact that again they just brought paper plates and cups. They are the losers that have no respect for authority and aren’t willing to put forth enough effort to even cook something. If you looked again you would see me. You’d see that I’m just fumbling around looking for my wings. You’d see that I don’t have the money to pay all of my bills or enough to eat any meal over $5. Would it matter to you that I spent way too much time in the store looking for just the right plates. That maybe I was not taught how to cook and really have no talent for it. That maybe I am learning how to be on my own and taste life. Would it matter to you that the cups and plates you scoff at cost me more than I would spend on groceries for myself in 2 days? Would you call me lazy behind my back if you know I made sure at the store to get the kind that won’t drop the peacock’s famous baked beans in everyone’s lap?

That’s the thing. We all have problems. We all have a hole people will peg us into. We all have our reasons for playing the part we do in the Potluck Play. Somehow, someway, if others knew the reasons they would be less inclined to pigeonhole us. We would all just be birds. So this long freaking ramble is to help me remember today at my Potluck Play that everyone has their story. That if I judge them I will never get those wings that I’ve been looking for. Happy 4th everyone.... please remember a designated driver if you need one.

“Never trust a thin chef.” -- Anonymous