#442: BUTTER DISH WOES / SLEEP HAS COME TO SAVE ME AT LONG LAST

This is a day late, since Blackbird wanted to see our show-and-tell items on Thursday, but I was actually sleepy yesterday and was unable to participate on time.

our sad butter dishShe said that she wanted to see our butter dishes, so here is our butter dish. It's a sad one, isn't it. Technically, it's an upsidedown, semi-disposable Glad container, but it's the perfect size for a brick of butter.

The fact that the container is the perfect size is where all its redeemable qualities as a butter dish end, though. I hate it. It is made of cheap, light-weight, non-grippy plastic, so it tries to make a leap for it whenever we open the refrigerator door, and it often hits the floor, skating along for a few inches before dumping its content onto the linoleum. It's not a good thing for a person to become accustomed to picking floor lint off the butter, especially when that person is me and I am spending time making rules about it in my head:

  • If it's a shortish black hair, it's the cat's, and that's not so bad, because he's really fastidious when it comes to his hygiene.
  • If it's brown and flakey, it's likely a bit of onion skin, which is vegetable matter, and so that's totally acceptable.
  • If it's a cluster of little pebbly bits, that is so gross, and they have to be cut out, because that's outside dirt, and outside dirt is different than inside dirt.
  • So, yes, we are terribly in need of a butter dish in our household. After reading about Blackbird's entirely over-complicated hunt for one for her home, I have fallen in love with the Butter Bell® in golden yellow. She mentioned the butter bell, which I had never heard of before, so I immediately looked it up, and it turns out that it could conceivably solve all my butter woes.

    If you have lived with me, you know that I don't go out of my way to cook. Sometimes, if something takes longer than a minute to heat up in the microwave, I'll just slap some peanut butter on some bread and call it supper. I also don't go out of my way to clean the kitchen, because I use the room so little that I just don't think about it.

    So, I am finding my butter bell crush amusing. Although, if you think about it, it would be one thing in the kitchen that I would use a lot, because of my sandwich-making. No longer would I have to struggle with a hard yellow cake that does little else but tear apart my bread! No longer would my butter have to endure the shame of being kept in a disposable Glad container! My butter could remain lint free!



    In other news, I have slept solidly through the last two nights, and I am already starting to feel much more sane. Of course, I haven't left the house to face the world yet, but I am confident that come three o'clock I will be dressed and ready to go out for some St. Patrick's day fries with S and others at the local pub.

    Two nights ago, I decided that my insomnia had to end. When my thoughts started randomly concluding in the face of difficulty that this time was as good as any to just end it all, I knew that I had to be proactive. Why end it all, you ask? Because that wall is too close! or my skin won't stop itching! or the cat has unravelled every ball of yarn I own! That's why.

    Oskar playing with yarn


    (Don't worry, though. I wouldn't end it all. I have just a wee bit of the drama queen in me. I think my parents were right when they used to tell me I was an extremist. I'm an all or nothing kind of person about most things. That's what keeps it hopping around here).

    On Wednesday night, I decided that, dammit, I was going to get a whole night of sleep, so I developed a plan. Then, after I developed a plan, I followed through with that plan. This is how you get things accomplished, you know.

    First, I had a long hot bath just before going to bed so that I would be all warm and relaxed. Second, I took an herbal sleep aid that contains valerian root, passion flowers, hops, lemon balm herb, and linden flowers. Third, I drank warm milk to wash the pills down. In the shape I was in at that point, I wasn't sure that what I had done was enough, but oh sweet jeebus, it was. I drifted peacefully into an unbroken sleep without wondering if that smell meant my building was on fire or that sound meant that someone had broken into the apartment.

    I would like to thank everyone who left nice comments and e-mailed me about my anxiety-driven insomnia. I tend to just let myself crumble to pieces if someone doesn't tell me to smarten up, so your well-wishing did me a lot of good. Seriously.

    Now I am off to stare longingly at that butter bell again. It's such a lovely shade of yellow.

    Elan Morgan18 Comments