So another night passed yielding little sleep. Insomnia rules the world in Reno. Insomnia ruled my world in SoCal, NYC and the frozen tundra of northern Michigan as well.
Perhaps it is Fate’s revenge for the years spent drinking and passing out early. I was a fun drunk, then suddenly I disappear from a party and quietly fall asleep in a quiet place.
Too bad my mind has a defect which makes it impossible to know when I am truly drunk. It could be worse, I could have been a mean drinker or born a sociopath with no conscience and an alcohol problem.
Back to the point: more realistically the insomnia is a result of a dark, curious and imaginative mind. I’d like to think so.
The shoulders and back are still killing me and feeling wretched this morning. Am thinking I may have to visit a real live masseuse in the next few days. Or grovel sufficiently to one of my friends who are good at this.
Last resort: get a friend’s rabid ankle biter and pay them $5.00 to walk on my back.
Kids will do any damned thing for money.
If I am dating a guy the first thing out of my daughter’s mouth is “do they have kids? Can I babysit?” Gimme your money and no one gets hurt.
There’s this machine at the gym which resembles some type of medieval torture device. I’ve seen people strap their feet into it and manipulate the controls. It turns them upside down and appears to stretch the body straight, with the weight held by the feet.
If I could figure out how to use that thing my back would feel a lot better. Or, I’ll have an embolism from being hung upside down and my back would feel a lot better.
I’ve a covert addiction to forensic shows. Sorry. That was an abrupt transition but it does tie into the insomnia thing.
|The Court TV forensic based programs started to piss me off. After every commercial there is a re-cap of the previous 15 minutes of the show. Granted that my attention span by evening is not as acute as earlier in the day, but my brain is still bigger than kitty’s and lasts longer than 15 minutes. Usually.
Hey! Is that a laser pointer you have there? No? A balled up cigarette package? Oh god please toss it across the floor.
Last night at 2:00 am I came across a new one (to me) on Spike called Post Mortem. Here’s what will suck me into the vacuous realm of television every time:
Black screen with white titles and an ominous voice-over ‘This program shows graphic images which some people may find disturbing etc etc etc’
Yeah baby. That’s the wholesome 30 minutes of gruesome goodness that I’m looking for.
By 2:45 I’m hungry since dinner was at 7:00 pm. Hell if I can figure out why keeping my weight down is an issue. As if eating while the metabolism is at hollandaise speed could have an impact.
I rummage in the pantry and find cashews. I eat a few and break the top off of my favorite tongue stud.
It was faceted, looked like a diamond and totally hot. Was being the operative word. At 3:00 am I’m in the bathroom trying to screw in a smooth end piece. If I had a boyfriend I’d actually wear that one not that I’m bitter.
Replacing the ball on a tongue piercing is a major undertaking. It is when you’re sleep deprived and organically spastic anyway. Do you have any idea of how small those screws pieces are? Now imagine trying to get the microscopic parts to connect, into your tongue, at 3:00 am.
I’m tired and my muscles are aching. Wah.
Blasting from the kid’s room I’m mercifully hearing Fiona Apple instead of Slipknot and she has thoughtfully left 2 cups of coffee for me.
Another day. Another exciting adventure. Join me won’t you? There’s a sign post up ahead and it reads…. The Twilight Zone.
I’m going to ask the Demon seed to play some Beck now.
Feel like gettin’ crazy with the cheese-whiz.
Where’s Rod when you need him.