#430: WHAT ZAZA WON, AND THEN SOME THINGS I JUST THREW TOGETHER TO KEEP MYSELF AWAKE UNTIL A PROPER GROWN-UP BEDTIME PRESENTED ITSELF
Do you remember that little draw I held a while ago? The one where a whole bunch of people told me about over four hundred of their favourite things so that they could have their names thrown into an Australian outback hat? And the prize was an overglorified homemade washcloth? The winner, ZaZa LaMarr, was brave enough to hand over her snail mail address to me, the person who googles you the minute she's got both your first and last names, and true to my word, I mailed her the washcloth that I knit and monogrammed with my own Schmutzie hands. I hope she enjoys it well while it washes armpits or toilet tanks or that sticky crap that builds up under the sink.
A List of Whatever Happens To Be Wandering Through My Brain, Because I Am Functioning On Very Little Sleep And Spent The Entire Day Doing Data Entry And Drinking Cup After Cup Of Stale Office Coffee:
- Sleep is
- Okay, that's a dead giveaway of the state I am in. I wrote point number one over an hour ago before I ran my bath. I actually lay in the bath and thought about what I had written in point number one, as though I had written anything. Yeesh.
- Here's something that's even more yeesh-worthy: after I took my shower this morning, I completely forgot what came next in my drying-off ritual after I had dried my hair and shoulders. I follow the same pattern after every shower, and I have done so with a near religious compulsion for many years.
This morning, though, I stood there in the tub, rivulets of water chilling on my thighs, and I did not find my arms moving naturally with the towel as they normally do. What next? This elbow? That leg? Finally, I just went ahead and did the whole drying thing entirely out of order and wondered if this was how symptoms of a minor stroke might manifest themselves.
- I came across a company name today that struck me as an excellent name for a band or a porn magazine. Beavers Electric. (I took the liberty of removing an apostrophe). Maybe it would be a magazine for that niche market of latex mock vulva lovers. The centrefold would have likes and dislikes such as "likes: to be washed with a mild liquid soap, the beach at sunset" and "dislikes: fear of commitment, being held too near an open flame".
- The hallway and bathroom floors are sopping wet. If you lived in my house, you would know exactly why without having had to witness the event, but you don't, so I'll tell you. Oskar, the cat, fell in the tub after I filled it. Again. He falls into the tub every time I have a bath. If he weren't so cute, I would be a lot more bitter about my hairy bathwater.
- Oh yeah, the sleeping thing. Point number one kind of got away on me there. I have not slept past 3:30 am since last weekend. I go to bed at a reasonable hour, I fall asleep easily, I have some unremarkable dreams, and then BANG, my eyes pop open at 3:30 in the morning, already snapped into focus and ready for the day.
For the first couple of days after this began, I felt fine for the most part, but the last couple of days have found me forgetting my words, lapsing into daydreams, tearing up over the cute and the heartwarming, and now even my somewhat automatic behaviours like towelling off or preparing a cup of coffee are falling apart.
- The coffee thing freaked me out today. I saw something foreign swirling in my mug out of the corner of my eye and pushed myself away from the desk with an anxious disgust. Then I recognized what was in my coffee. My second cup had somehow acquired a few of those candy hearts with messages on them from Valentine's Day. Candy hearts. I think I must have intended to throw the candy in my mouth and then misthrew.
It turns out that candy hearts are not such bad coffee sweeteners, but they can be downright disconcerting when they're not expected. (My coffee was apparently "ingle" and indicated the request "iss me" repeatedly as it whirled around the cup before its mode of communication dissolved with its own steamy heat).
- You still have time to vote for me as a finalist in the Share the Love Blog Awards Best Site-Design category.
Nope, I still haven't found my shame. Have you seen it?
I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.
And I feel as I sit here thinking,
That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings,
And is drawing them up in tune.
I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go –
You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely –
I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
But they have not the same old tone.
I am tired; and that old sorrow
Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might suddenly break
Away from a dam’s control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
A wreck with a snow-white sail,
And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away,
But they only respond with a wail.- "Tired" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox