The night before last I had a very restless sleep and spent yesterday powered up on caffeine. This is never a good idea, because eventually my body does a sudden power down and crashes for many hours. Hours in which the house could burn down around me and I wouldn’t notice or care. Happily that didn’t happen, and here I am, up and once again pretending to be normal and on my second cup of coffee already.
One of the reasons I couldn’t sleep was because some time in the afternoon I thoughtlessly tossed a black opti-flow ink pen on to my couch without putting the cap on it. The light mushroom brown material absorbed the black ink as it flowed until there was a nice round inky black spot staring at me when I finally happened to notice it. Even for completely unobservant me it was relatively easy to notice. So when I should have been in bed sleeping I was instead pouring out caps of rubbing alcohol and dabbing up incredible amounts of ink. On to white (of course they were white) terry cloth dish towels. It was like a tie-dye experiment gone horribly wrong. Then I used up three tide pens to get out the last of it. All night I fretted about what it would look like dry and in the daylight, and there were also a few thoughts flitting around in my head having to do with carelessness and being a moron.
It’s not too bad, all things considered. A very faint bluish splotch which I will now make sure I sit on whenever we have guests. I think another tide pen should take care of it once I work up the ambition to mess about with it again. This is the same piece of furniture which has been broken since Christmas, 2012. W is going to get it fixed. You know that joke where you’re told not to worry, your husband is going to get it done, there’s no need to remind him about it every six months? Yeah, that one.
There should have been a center support on the front cross-piece of this couch, (who thinks about these things when you see it new) especially for people like us who load it up with the entire family for a memorable photo. We’ve had it propped up front and center with wooden blocks (complete with duct tape) for almost two years.
So my very first thought when I discovered the ink was to just throw the whole damned thing out and get a new one. Chuck it. Start over. Piece of crap.
But I’ve been doing that all my life, and it’s so wrong. Wasteful, extravagant, bad for the environment. Can you recycle a couch? I got a new coffee pot because the old one was leaking a bit and it annoyed me to have to clean up after it. It was still working and probably could have done with a good cleaning, but instead of trying that, I chucked it out. I’ve thrown out microwaves rather than bother to see if they can be repaired. When I decide I don’t like something anymore I get rid of it and replace it with something new. I hope you’re reading this W. You could be next.
Nope, turning over a new leaf here. Going to recycle and re-purpose and maintain. Make my mother proud.
Except maybe for this gawd-awful carpet in my bedroom which originated on the ark and looks like total shit. No point in getting completely carried away.
Jazzy Does 100 Days of Happiness 8
Happy Easter, Happy Sunday, Happy Spring. It’s raining here. Don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see the rain.
Tuesdays at work wear me out. We have a doctor seeing patients and I’m there until 8 p.m. Then I come home and sit at the end of the couch where there is a stupid lamp with such a thick shade that the light hardly comes through it and that’s where I stare like a zombie at my I-Pad for a couple of hours. That little bit of light is very relaxing, and because of it I can say I’m not sitting alone in the dark.
Because I’m not. There’s my I-Pad. I catch up on Words With Friends and e-mails and Facebook and check out that there’s nothing new on Netflix and as a last resort play some Candy Crush. I drink decaf coffee. I read my current e-book. I am a barrel of fun.
Wednesdays when I’m off work, I always think I’m going to get a zillion things done, because, hey, it’s a whole day, and I’m off. So I sleep in late, mess around doing nothing for the entire morning (because seriously, I have the WHOLE DAY), do a repeat of Tuesday night with electronic time wasters, drink my smoothie, consume a lot of coffee, wonder what I should make for dinner…. Suddenly it’s evening. There are three days of work ahead of me, laundry becomes a priority, there’s no time for those projects I’ve been putting off until my day off. I am lazy and I like to procrastinate, and I excel at relaxing. You’re supposed to do whatever you’re really good at, right?
Yesterday, like most Thursdays, I worked early and got off at five. There are a lot of hectic people out there running around getting things done in a huge hurry with places to go and people to see and deadlines to meet and WHY IS THAT? Our contact lens student is one of them. She got her glasses dispensing licence, went straight into the contact lens course, accepted the position of teaching the glasses course at the same time, is getting married, buying a new house, looking after her son from a previous relationship and her future husbands son from his previous relationship, constantly doing nice things (like baking) for other people, and now she has accepted the position of manager at another store (the store is a ridiculously busy one and she has no managerial experience) and she will start that before any of all the other stuff is finished. She is twenty-six. And probably insane.
Someone asked me if I didn’t remember being young and ambitious and I had to admit I’ve never been that ambitious in my entire life. I want to tell her to slow down, don’t be so impatient, stop being so hard on yourself, get some sleep. I’m afraid she’s going to burn out before she’s thirty. And wonder where her life went.
And now it’s Friday and another full day looming, filled with trying to sell stuff to justify my pay cheque. I’m tired. And I haven’t even done anything, comparatively speaking. But I’m not twenty-six either. I drummed up enough energy to go and get my hair cut last night. That was pretty exhausting, sitting there listening to another twenty something pink haired girl tell me about her social life.
Yeah. I’m old and boring. And ready to pack in this working for a living crap and actually get on with living and doing whatever I want. And whatever that is, I want to do it very, very slowly. Because now I know life rushes by while we’re busy thinking about all the things we have to do to get to a place where we can do something else.
And now I have to rush off to work so I can get that over with and then I’ll be able to come home and NOT work. We’re all running around in circles. Sit down and let people lap you. It’s okay. That’s really all I’m saying.
zarf (n) A holder for a coffee cup. Used to protect the cup and also the fingers of the drinker from the hot liquid.
‘Zarf’ comes from an Arabic word meaning ‘container.’
Normally I don’t miss three days in a row of putting my scatter-brained thoughts out there for all the world to see, or ignore, or whatever it is that happens to them. But when I do, I have my reasons. Not saying they’re good ones, but reasons are reasons. So, on to the profound stuff. Or the superficial. Or the moderately sagacious.
1. Work. There will be an end to gainful employment for me very soon. Hopefully in less than six months. This lovely thought keeps me showing up, since I am able to see an end in sight at last. Some days that feels like a lifetime away, especially when complete strangers sit down and proceed tell me the most bizarre shit imaginable. I’m not sure what I do to encourage this. I don’t think I do anything. And yet people tell me things that happened to them from years ago right up to and including the past five minutes. Things that are really none of my business. So I don’t feel like I should share their information. And when I come home with my head full of life stories that I never asked to hear, I’m both physically and mentally exhausted.
2. I hate the word SHOULD. Also ought, duty, must, need, and maybe even do. Because there’s many things waiting to be done and I don’t feel like doing any of them. I don’t care if I should. And of course that’s a lie, otherwise I wouldn’t even mention it. GUILT. Another stupid word.
3. We are dog-sitting for a week. All of our grandchildren and their moms are off for a spring break holiday to the sunny south. I don’t envy them the long overnight flights, but getting away from our cold non-spring-like weather will be a very nice break. Really, having a dog here as an excuse for doing nothing is pretty lame. He’s a good little dog.
4. My I-Pad is evil. Well maybe that’s a little harsh. Let’s call it an angel of darkness. I pick it up and I cannot put it down. It is very portable. It plays timba drums (often relentlessly) when it has something to tell me or show me which may or may not be important. It reminds me to play Candy Crush and Words with Friends. It has Netflix.
5. There are many books on my Kindle waiting to be read. I purchase them faster than I read them. One day I hope to get this all evened out. Living long enough to do so would be nice.
If this were true I would be disgustingly healthy. Or have a severe vitamin over-dose going on. I comfort myself with the thought that there are worse addictions and many less relaxing ways to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon than drinking coffee and watching the sixth season of Psych. Yes, I know, I have issues. I promise I’ll think about them seriously some other time. When exactly that might happen depends on how long I live, and possibly on how much coffee I am able to consume.
So what are you up to on your last Sunday in March? If it’s more exciting than my day, I can’t say I’m too surprised.
Jazzy will be back tomorrow! There, I’ve said it. There’s no going back now.
No matter what my plans (or lack thereof) are for any given day, I am basically a creature of habit. My day starts with this lovely thought.
And second, more coffee. And guess what comes next? Gargantuan coffee number three. Well that’s how it went today, anyway.
That’s probably quite enough coffee for one day. I’m just not my usual laid back lazy self tonight. Instead I think I might describe myself as zingy. Zippy? Zonked will come later.
I always make coffee in the morning and drink at least one over sized cup before work. Then I get a large black coffee from McDonalds for the morning. Then when a co-worker shows up and asks me if I’d like a coffee, I rarely say no. That would be rude. We don’t fool around with wimpy little cups either – these are the super sized jumbo heart palpitation inducing servings guaranteed to make it pretty much impossible for your eyes to close.
By five o’clock today I was still wide awake and buzzed and not thinking clearly, which helps to explain why I bought a gluten-free pizza crust mix and some yeast and enough pepperoni to pave my driveway.
Yes, I made pizza! On this no bread no wheat no gluten and not even a measly cracker food plan I made up for myself, the one thing I’ve really been missing is pizza. W was skeptical because he fears everything gluten-less, but the crust was okay! It was a lot like biscuit dough, but crunchy. Really, if you put enough tomato sauce and pepperoni and melted cheese on something it’s pretty hard for it to taste bad. I also threw on some bits of onion and green pepper. Because vegetables.
Do you hate it when somebody says because followed by one word? Do you get why that’s so popular when it’s rarely a proper explanation for anything?
And while you’re answering that could you also please explain to me why I’m drinking another cup of coffee as we speak? Don’t worry, this one is decaf. Because GAWD.
Maybe I should have some wine to help me sleep…… There’s no gluten in wine. But first……
What kind of sleeper are you? Do you drop off like a stone and awaken refreshed, or do you need pitch black and silence to drift off to dream?
(I know this is yesterdays prompt, and I would have done it yesterday if I hadn’t needed to take so many naps. It’s the only sane way to spend a Monday.)
I am a marathon sleeper. If sleeping were an Olympic event I would be a high ranking favourite, a definite contender for the gold. I have been in training my entire life. When I was a baby my mother said her envious friends were sure she must be sedating me. She could plop me down on any flat surface while she visited and drank tea and I would stay happily passed out until it was time to bundle me up again and take me home. It was anyone’s guess what color my eyes were for several months because they were so rarely open.
I don’t remember ever being freaked out by bedtime as a child. Or as an adult either. So when I gave birth to a daughter who couldn’t seem to figure out how to sleep for more than four hours at a stretch until she was six months old, and then bumped it up to six hours between midnight and six a.m. until she was almost two – well that was enough to make me totally rethink the parenting thing, never mind my new zombie-like personality caused by sleep deprivation. She was the kind of kid who would jump up and down in the middle of the room and sing and dance to stay awake. After that I had a less confusing child who restored my faith in the existence of our family’s powerful sleep gene. I never loved my son so much as when he would look at me with his forlorn little face at the end of the day and say “Is it time to go to bed yet?”
Although pitch black silence is nice for inducing sleep, for me it’s not a necessary requirement. My grandma could fall asleep anywhere and so can I. A loud noise or the phone ringing or incessant and annoying snoring (not mentioning any names here) will wake me up easily enough, but if I’m not sufficiently rested I will be ridiculously cranky until you shut up and go away and leave me alone. Or give me coffee. That also works.
Maybe I was a raving insomniac in a past life and in this one I’m making up for all that lost sleep. Sleep is such a lovely thing. I don’t understand why we all don’t do more of it. Although I’ve heard there are people who would like to do that and can’t. That makes me feel like one of the lucky ones. It’s like my brain has an off switch triggered by simply closing my eyes. Is that a blessing or a curse? I don’t know. Maybe the mysteries of the universe can only be solved at 3 a.m., in which case I probably won’t be the one doing that.
But I’m sure this talent for dropping happily off into dreamland and staying there for hours has to be a true indicator of an untroubled mind, right?
Anyway, don’t think too hard about that. Just agree with me. You’ll sleep better.
Whenever the weekend is over I think of that whooshing sound my devices make for a sent e-mail. Days off do the same thing. Also days when I take breaks from writing. There has been a lot of whooshing going on in my life lately. I got to the place in Cin’s Feb Challenge where it said ‘indulge yourself’ and decided to take that one very seriously. Not like this is anything new, but sometimes I tend to go overboard.
I would love to say I’ve been doing things that are highly exceptional and utterly extraordinary and extremely creative and intensely fun and important enough to change the world. And I guess I did just say that, but it would follow that I then feel obligated to expound on the details and I can’t because it’s a big fat lie.
Here’s what actually happened. I spent my waking hours curled up on the end of the couch with my I-Pad drinking various things (mostly coffee, but last night wine) until the credits rolled on the last episode of Season Four of The Good Wife. Whoosh. Thank you Netflix. Now what am I supposed to do while I’m waiting for you to get Season Five?
Well, I immediately thought of something and watched Wuthering Heights from beginning to end, part one and part two. And finished the wine. Not sure I could have done it without the wine.
I’m certainly a little more leery now of these multi season shows and getting myself hooked on yet another television series because they seem to have a sort of paralyzing affect on me. Legal stuff and politics and investigations? Really?? I could have sworn these things didn’t interest me at all.
I though I was more of an Emily Bronte/Heathcliff skulking about on the moors kind of girl, but maybe not.