Twelve years ago this evening, we had finished rehearsing and were feasting at the rehearsal dinner the night before our wedding. Tonight, we are heading out as a zombie bride and groom to the annual Zombie Pub Crawl.
This post is short, but sweet. Basically, after being married for twelve years, there is still no one I would rather feast on brains with.
Yeah, this whole narcolepsy thing is losing its appeal. Not that it had much appeal to begin with. However, at least at the beginning, it was kind of funny. I mean, you hear about narcolepsy all the time. But hearing about it, it always seemed like something that wasn’t real. Something made up. When I was told I had it, I nearly had to stifle a guffaw. Good one, doctor. Well played. Only it’s not that funny, it turns out. The little novelty there was quickly dissipated. Now, it’s just really annoying. I’m frustrated. I’m angry. I just want it to go away.
The real irony of it is that the narcolepsy is causing me to not sleep at night. I lay down. I turn out the lights. I close my eyes and drift off. Only I don’t really. I constantly wake up, and the sleep I get doesn’t give me rest. So, when I drag my tired ass out of bed I have a terrible time staying awake. Are you kidding me?
However, my sleep neurologist (As opposed to my other neurologist. Aren’t I fancy? TWO neurologists!) seems confident we can fix this. I just paid him a visit. I told him about the not sleeping, and the wanting to sleep. He talked about the sleep disorder causing another sleep disorder, and told me my natural night owl tendencies didn’t help. That last one caught me by surprise. I do not recall telling him about being a night owl. Most people I do tell find it amusing, and they suggest going to bed earlier. I tell them that even as a tiny child, my parents put me to bed, and I would read via night light, or play with blocks on the side of the room they couldn’t see from the doorway, or sneak into the hallway to peer around the corner and watch Johnny Carson. Until my parents would catch me and try to get me to go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. Eventually, they gave up. They would let me read or whatever, I suspect because they figured letting me read by a real light rather than a night light would be better for me. I digress. He figured me and my night owliness out. I guess that’s why he has all the fancy degrees on his wall. He asked if it would be possible for me to work a third shift job. I told him that wouldn’t work so well with my position. Our department is a great fit for early-to-bed-early-to-rise types. Strangely, it’s a highly creative department. I don’t understand how those two are supposed to go together. Damn. More digression. So, since I’m a night owl, with sleep disorders piling up, his goal is to get my system to shift so taht I am sleeping when I should be, and awake when I should be. Since the first try was a lot of very strong sedatives, which I could stay awake right through, the second try was amphetamines during the day to keep me awake. Those seem to do the trick. At least for keeping me awake. So, now we are trying to get the sleeping thing to happen. Also, the waking up. I get to take melatonin now. After dinner, pop one to three of those puppies. At nine o’clock, all screens must be off (so far, I seem to be getting there by 9:15. I need to get better). No television, no laptop, no tablet, no smart phone. Eyes shut by ten. It’s a struggle.
I do not understand how I can be exhausted. Painfully so. That’s not an exaggeration. I am so tired I hurt. Yet, I can’t fall asleep, and when I do, I can’t stay asleep. If I’m that exhausted, the sleeping should happen. When I’m in bed. Not when I’m on the bus, or in the shower, or whatever. Anyhow, I just need to trust the doctor with the fancy degrees. I’m really trying.
On the bright side, I get to wear a fancy wristband for two weeks. It seems suspiciously like my FitBit. It’s got special (magical?) crystals in it that sense my movements and which are supposed to determine how much I sleep. It also has a light sensor on it. I also have a chart to fill out daily, hour-by-hour to corroborate the data. I shade in when I am asleep, I notate when I have caffeine, alcohol, and/or meds. I notate if I exercise, and if I take off the band. I think it will be a little interesting to see how it compares to my FitBit, since the actigraphy watch costs like $1000 and the FitBit costs like $100.
So, per doctor’s orders, I am now shutting off the laptop. The TV is off, and my phone is put away. This is night three. I am really hoping for results. I know that in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t the most terrible thing that could befall me. Yet, it’s still getting to me. So, thanks for letting me rant, and I apologize for no post yesterday. I was tired and shaking off a migraine, and I couldn’t get past my winky/squinty crankiness. I will do better, and make it up!
Good night, friends!
xoxoxo
Yesterday, we tackled the conversations between my husband and I. Today, let’s look at what happens with coworkers.
Me: (Looking at inspiration photos for a bath design.) Man, these people really love toothbrushes.
(Co-workers J and K come over to look at the photo on my computer, where there are three toothbrush holders with toothbrushes on the corner and a box of toothbrushes in the open drawer.)
K: They’re a dentist.
Me: But the toothbrushes aren’t packaged!
K: Not a dentist.
Me: I mean, I can see using old toothbrushes for cleaning or something, but you wouldn’t keep them all together, right?
J: No, I don’t know what that is.
Me: I mean, I have a couple of old toothbrushes for cleaning but they’re with cleaning supplies. Except for the toothbrush I use for my taxidermy. That’s with my taxidermy stuff. (I then recount the conversation with G about my taxidermy toothbrush. Before I finish:)
K: Did G shake his head and sigh?
Me: Yeah. Oh, then there’s the toothbrush I use on my rat when I give her a bath.
J: Remind me to never use a toothbrush at your house.
Me: It’s not like I keep them all in the toothbrush holder with the toothbrushes we use in our mouths!
Unlike these people.
Fin.
At lunch, we are discussing pandas. Coworker J mentions how her husband doesn’t like that people have to dress like pandas when handling pandas.
Me: Well, their coloring has to do with their sight. They can only see in high contrast, so when they see another panda they know it’s another panda because of the distinct markings. The handlers dress like pandas, because then the pandas think they too, are pandas.
(At this point, my brain makes it’s usual leaps.)
Like my rat. Rats don’t have great eyesight, so they sniff a lot to figure out what things are around them. She gets really sniffing sometimes, and I can hear it. It’s kind of hilarious and adorable.
My coworker, C, is looking at me quizzically for a moment. Then,
C: Oh, you mean your live rat. For a minute I thought you were talking about your taxidermied rat. Whew, for a minute I was trying to figure out if you were crazy.
Me: Yeah, of course, it’s Billy Corgan. My taxidermied rat doesn’t really do much of anything.
So, there you have it. I might just be the queen of weird conversation.
Many of the conversations around our house end in G sighing deeply and shaking his head.
Some examples:
Me: You know what would be amazing? Building a chess set out of taxidermied squirrels.
G: How did I wind up married to the Janitor? *sigh* *head shake*
Me: Not that you will, but just in case you want to use the pink toothbrush on my nightstand, don’t.
G: Um, ooooh….kay.
Me: Just because I used it to brush the squirrel.
G: *sigh* *head shake*
Me: O.M.G. If I get this taxidermied peacock, we can name him Mr. Peabody.
G:
Me: Z.O.M.G. Then, if we could find a taxidermied peahen, she could be Mrs. Peabody. Then, when we have guests, we can say, *old timey speak* “Come on in. The Peabodies are already here, they’re in the living room.”
G:
Me: I think Mr. Peabody would be a haberdasher. We can put him on a perch, surrounded by wee hats on wee hat stands. He would model the hats, of course.
G: *sigh* *head shake*
Hmmm. Now that I think about it, most of these conversations also start with taxidermy. I might be on to something here.
Usually, I don’t pay any attention to the names in our wi-fi list. Ours shows up at the top, and if I’m reconnecting to the interwebs, that’s all I need.
However, there were a couple of times recently that ours wasn’t showing up right away and I perused the neighbors’ various wi-fi network names while I waited. Most are pretty boring. However, a couple of gems stood out.
First, there was this tribute to Antoine:
Clever, no?
Then there was this one:
I kind of wish there was a way to know who belonged to these. I mean, a fellow Ravenclaw?? That does not happen very often. I kind of want to hang out with them in the common room. Unless they are our crazy neighbors. In which case, I would get them expelled from Hogwarts.
So, it’s no secret that I love Wade Robson. He is hands down, one of the most brilliant choreographers of our time. Even more amazing, he started as a kid. I don’t mean he started dancing as a kid. Lots of people do that. He started choreographing and teaching as a child. He had a dance school, he was professionally choreographing for some big name folks when he was the age where most people are on the playground. When people think of choreographers, they just think of the dance steps. However, Wade takes it multiple steps further. When he choreographs a piece, he also designs the lights and if it’s being filmed, he choreographs the camera work. Now that he’s married (to the stunning Amanda Robson nee Rodriguez), his wife designs the costumes and make-up. It creates magic on the stage. He’s clever, and talented, and had it all thrust on his shoulders as a child.
I’ve noticed since the dance above, his routines becoming fewer, then disappearing all together. It was chalked up to a talented man being booked for projects and unavailable for a reality television show. However, having seen nor heard from him for a couple of years (I don’t mean personally, I just mean on projects), I had to use the internets to see what big project must be brewing for him.
Sadly, the reason he has been missing from So You Think You Can Dance is much darker. I knew that he worked for Michael Jackson when he was a kid, dancing and choreographing. In fact, if you look closely, you’ll spot a nine-year-old Wade hip-hopping his heart out in the Black or White video. In 2005, apparently he testified in defense of Jackson when Jackson was on trial for molestation against another boy. However, in 2011 and 2012, Wade Robson suffered two nervous breakdowns. He began psychological treatment and what came to light was tragic. Wade had long remembered his time with Jackson on the Neverland Ranch. However, he thought that everything that happened on the ranch and all the nights spent with Jackson and the things that happened in bed were normal and consensual. He defended Jackson, not because he forgot, but because he thought that it was all perfectly okay. Clearly, his subconscious was hurting and it all came crashing down. Now, he is suing the Jackson estate. It’s a long shot, and while there is potentially a monetary settlement involved, he’s doing it out of principle rather than money.
Now, I know a lot of Michael Jackson fans are furious over this. I love Michael Jackson’s music and I think he was incredibly talented. I also think he had a tragic life, despite the money and fame. He was wildly talented as a child, and unfortunately that caused people to want to use and abuse him. Some of those people were his family. He never had a childhood, and lived a hard life, much of it for the benefit of others. Once he had success and independence, he tried very hard to recapture what he lost, and to gain happiness. I do feel sorry for him. It’s hard to say what really happened for all those years, but I think it’s tough to say that 24 boys made up allegations and that Jackson gave them millions of dollars for no reason. I doubt he meant to harm anyone, but clearly he had a lot of problems. Problems that money could not fix.
Whatever comes out of this, I hope Wade is able to have closure and that he will soon be able to share his talents and choreography with the world again soon.
xoxox
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, I suspect you are familiar with Dove’s “real beauty” campaign. It has been going on for some time, and it’s supposed purpose is to show that all women are beautiful magical creatures and we must all celebrate how amazing we all are and reject cultural norms of what is beautiful. I have called bullshit on these from the beginning, and the latest round of ads featuring a “social experiment” gets me even more ragey than usual. I have seen too many women I would normally consider reasonable and intelligent turn into blubbery messes over these ads. They somehow miss all the problems with this “experiment” and how all of the women featured still fit a very specific standard of beauty. One even beyond the usual standards of the industry.
While I accept and celebrate that we are all different and special for different reasons, I also accept and celebrate that this includes skill sets and talents. Some have exceptional skills in logic or math. Some are brilliant artists. Some have incredible bone structures that Michelangelo himself could not have sculpted if he tried. There are even those special few that possess many or all of these. (Natalie Portman or Geena Davis, anyone?) One or the other doesn’t trump all. Beauty and brains are equally important, and equally unimportant. Some people are destined to be neurosurgeons. Some are destined to get trash from point A to point B. Some are destined to wear clothing and strut the runway. Society needs all of these, and they all require specific skill sets. There are countless occupations such as these, and all are important. Just because one isn’t cut out for one doesn’t mean they are worthless. It means they are cut out for something different and just as important. They are just as worthy of love and adoration, regardless of skill set or physical attributes. This includes loving yourself. Yes, I dare to say it, you don’t have to think you are beautiful! It doesn’t mean you don’t love yourself, it doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of love. It means that you are a valuable person, it means you have valuable skills. It even means that someone else may still think you are beautiful! After all, like art, beauty is subjective. All of this is fine. After all, wouldn’t life be awfully boring if everyone thought the same thing was pretty?
Dove ads are trying to take “average” women and make them models. That’s fine, I suppose. However, as I previously mentioned, every job requires a certain skill set. In the case of modeling, it requires a certain physicality and, for print work, one to be photogenic. Neither of those requirements are necessarily equivalent to beauty. Most models need to be clothes hangers. If you have ever done any fashion sketching, the proportions in sketching are different than average proportions. The closer one’s proportions are to these (longer body, smaller head, the longer the legs are in proportion, the better), the better suited they are for fashion modeling. These proportions are not “ideal.” If you look at the classic DaVinci piece “The Vitruvian Man” you would see that these people aren’t “ideal.” There has been outcry recently that the fashion world should change the requirements for modeling. That this isn’t representative of what “real” people look like. Last I checked, these models had skin and bones and breathed in and out just like every other being. They just have unusual body types. I agree that eating disorders should be looked for, however, I know that not all models have eating disorders. There are actually people who can eat how they want and are still slim. I’m related to a couple of them, but am not one of these people myself. Yet, it has become fair game to accuse the naturally slender of having an eating disorder. To tell them they are gross, or not real, or to eat a cheeseburger. I have yet to hear someone say that it’s wonderful that someone found a job that uses and celebrates their natural slender state and unusual proportions. Yet, I have heard lots of women just thrilled that Dove is bucking the trend and using “average” women. However, how average are these women? I guess if you are trying to reach the majority, which are white women, then yes. High fashion does a better job of celebrating diversity than the usual Dove ad.
I will admit that the Dove advertisers are good. They know how to trigger emotions. They use clever language to tell us just how important it is to be pretty, under the guise that it’s okay to not be beautiful. These sketch ads are especially sneaky. They have all these intelligent women watching them in tears, sad that women just don’t understand how pretty they are. None of these women realize they are being played. First, the experiment is flawed. While these are some of the top forensic sketch artists in the country, they are working under unusual conditions. They know that they will be drawing the “flawed” version that the individual sees first, followed by the “attractive” version the stranger sees. Further, in a true sketch situation, the person offering the description can see the sketch to see if what is being drawn is accurate to what they are describing. The adjectives one may use would be different than what another would use or because of limited vocabulary and this provides an opportunity to ensure that the drawing is accurate to what is being described. For instance, the word round could be used to describe simply the shape or to describe weight. Second, the sample shown in the final cut lacks diversity. We see that there were some women of color used, but they don’t get featured nor do they speak. We just see the blonde, blue-eyed, slender white women with make-up free faces. Not just a specific version of beauty, but one that is indicative of the west coast. So very specific! Finally, the language used gives a particular meaning to what is beautiful. The word “thin” gets tossed out a lot. So, thin is beautiful. If you don’t think you are thin, you don’t think you are beautiful. In fact, the words fat and fatter are used as negative. Finally, it talks about how important it is to be beautiful. In the descriptor on Dove’s homepage, it says that it is trying to inspire women and girls to reach their full potential. Apparently, one cannot reach their potential without being beautiful. They don’t say it explicitly, but they are giving a big middle finger to brains and strength and talent. At the end of the ad, it has one of the women describing her experience, talking about how important it is to pretty much everything in life to be beautiful.
So, once again, I call bullshit. You don’t have to be pretty. You don’t have to be thin. You are still worthy of love and success. You are still talented. Hell, someone will still think you are beautiful! I am the first to admit that I am a pretty vain person. I like to look good, generally. However, I don’t equate that to my worth. I am an artistic, intelligent, talented woman. That is why I will make it far. I don’t wear make-up when I go to work, in part because I will sweat it off and it will clog my pores, but also because what my face looks like doesn’t affect the quality of my work. I still go in every day and bust my ass, and create inspirational designs. I still learn from my coworkers, and teach them what I can. If Dove really wants to empower women, it will take this appearance thing out of the equation. If they are really all about being natural and all inclusive, they will focus on how their products get you clean, and function to get you doing what you need to do. Not pretending that everyone is beautiful when they clearly have their own standards of what fits that category, and insuring that we all think beauty is still important to being a productive, successful member of society.
Hey! Since you all were so patient with me while I was working on this whole Project Runway thing, I thought I should make it up by releasing at least one of the new weekly features I’ve been noodling on. I thought it might be fun to share stories of all the things that make me, well, me. There are a lot of them. Some of them are funny. At least now they’re funny. So, here’s to a younger me!
When I was wee, I wanted to be a dancer. Of course, I would still kill, or at least maim, to be a dancer. However, this is about the tiny me, with the hair of an young orangutan.
Where was I? Ah yes, wee me, dancing. I was four, and my mother so kindly signed me up for ballet class. I was really fortunate going in, because I had a strong background in the arts. I would sit for hours, glued to PBS watching operas and ballet. I was well versed in the classics. I just needed the leotard to prove it, and my mother hooked me up with one. Which I imagine you figured out, as it would be tricky for a four-year-old to get herself to the store and procure said leotard on her own.
So, leotard? Check. PBS education in the arts? Check. I was ready. I was going to own this ballet class. I walked into the room, full of confidence. I looked up at the other girls in the room. As I looked from face to face, I could see the love of ballet in each pair of eyes. I knew that they were yearning to learn all the elements of classical dance.
And I was going to teach it to them.
I called them to gather around me. They obediently formed a semicircle around me. I patiently explained how things would work, and began leading them in a series of pointed toes and ballet fingers. They followed along, mimicking my movements, focusing very carefully. They were so focused, in fact, that they barely seemed to notice the teacher walk in. We continued. She called the class to line up. We continued along pointing and flexing, all my years (roughly three of them) of PBS knowledge firmly behind me. She called the class again. The flock of ballerinas continued to dance.
The teacher asked my mother to remove me from class. She thought it best that I not return until I learned to listen and follow directions.
While I might be a dancer, I’m still not a ballerina.
So, the title of my blog got a lot less ironic today. I’ve been dealing with mounting exhaustion for a while now. Each day it has been harder to extract myself from bed. I started falling asleep during favorite TV shows and movies. Not when I stayed up too late, or figured I would watch TV as I drifted off, but during things I wanted to see. I began to sleep away entire weekends. I would fall dead asleep, even if I had plans or somewhere I needed to be.I stopped running, or really doing any activity because I was just. Too. Tired.
So, I brought it up at my last annual exam, and made an appointment around the same time to see my neurologist as a precaution. My regular doctor ran every blood test known to man, including some that were highly, highly improbably. The gamut ran from checking white blood cells and my thyroid to every STD in the book. (If any of the STDs came back positive, I would have been floored. It’s just me and the hubs, and he’s clean. Where would it have come from??) All came back perfect, and I gave myself a pat on the back for taking my vitamins every day. So, on to the neurologist. He gave me a once over, and said that I might have some sleep disorder. He explained some of the possibilities, such as sleep apnea. “I can’t have sleep apnea,” I thought, “I’m not obese!” It turns out that sleep apnea isn’t exactly what I thought it was, and thin people can have it, too. So, I was set up for a sleep study. It’s really strange to make a doctor appointment that occurs at night. When the receptionist asked if I was available to come in that day at 8:30, I managed to stop myself before actually saying, “But it’s already 9!” D’oh. I made my appointment, and per the instructions I took the following day off work. I thought that seemed a bit much just to watch me sleep for a night, but whatever. They are the experts…or at least I hoped so. Otherwise, it just seemed weird to let them watch me sleep. Upon finding out that I would be sleeping in a top-of-the-line Select Comfort bed and that I could watch anything I liked on their HDTV with satellite service, I told both my job and the hubs that I might need to take a few sleep studies. You know, just to make sure.
So, I took the sleep study. I had packed my best pajamas, since I was gonna be on camera, and the novel I was currently reading. It said to bring all your toiletries and such, but I figured I would just do my thing when I got home the next morning. I brought my medicines and purse, and that was about it. I was checked in, and taken to my room. It looked like a classy hotel room that happened to have a weird machine in it. I was told to change into my pajamas, and they would be back to hook me up. I changed into those fancy pajamas and a very nice lady proceeded to wire me up. There were wires everywhere. Electrodes were pasted to my legs, arms, chest, back, neck, head, face, feet…if there is a part not listed, don’t worry, there was probably a wire leading to it. Then, I got to try a CPAP machine. She brought one of each mask type, excluding one that went up my nose on account of my nose ring. I was really hoping I wouldn’t need one, because once the air was turned on for the CPAP, I felt like I was going to choke on the air. Then, I got a rundown of where everything was located. Remote, channel guide, all the bed settings, how if I needed someone just to speak since they would be listening. Finally, I got to settle in. I could read, watch TV, whatevs. I just had to give them a five minute warning of when I would fall asleep so they could hook my myriad of wires to the machine they would be monitoring me through and turn on the camera. I took my meds, tested out all the bed options (My sleep number is 80, if you are wondering. 85 was too much, and 75 wasn’t enough.), and turned on HGTV. When I felt like I had some potential to go to sleep, I sheepishly said something. It’s really weird to speak out to the air and assume someone will hear you. However, they did and a voice from above said someone would be there in a moment. She came in, and hooked my bundle of wires to the machine. A mic was put under my nose to monitor snoring, sleep talking, that sort of thing. Then, I was instructed to lie on my back and await further instruction over the speaker. She left the room, turning out the lights on her way. I then heard instructions to do things so they could check the equipment. Things like breathing in and out, blinking, and speaking. After that, it was sweet sleep time.
I slept and had some crazy dreams. I know I woke up a few times, and a couple of those times were so brief that I wondered if they would notice I was even awake. Finally, I woke up and had to pee. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep. I wondered if I would be bothering anyone by asking to go to the bathroom. I pondered for a bit. However, I really had to pee. I quietly said that I needed to use the restroom. A voice said she would be there in a moment. Sure enough, a knock on the door. I said to come in, and the door opened. A different woman came in, and turned on the light, warning me that it would be bright. She unhooked the wires from the machine and clipped them to a lanyard so I could go to the bathroom. When I was finished, I had her come back into the room. She asked if I was ready to get up for the day. I asked what time it was. She responded, “You want to know what time it is? Two o’clock in the afternoon.” Yup. I guess I should be ready to get up. I was told they got some good data, and she suspected I would need to stay for a nap study. She also mentioned that she got me a turkey sandwich from Panera. Yay! Oh wait. I can’t eat turkey. A moment later there were balloons and confetti floating from the ceiling. “CONGRATULATIONS!!! YOU QUALIFY FOR A NAP STUDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!” What did I win? “FOUR OR FIVE TWENTY MINUTE NAPS! DINNER FROM PIZZA LUCE! HELPING YOURSELF TO ANYTHING IN THE KITCHEN*!”
Okay, so there was no confetti nor any balloons and no exclamations. However, I totally qualified for that nap study and got to order anything I wanted from Pizza Luce. I had to change out of my pajamas, though, and there were significantly fewer wires involved. Basically, the run down was to stay up for two hours (no napping/drifting off allowed), then they would come in, plug in my remaining wires, do a couple of checks and tell me to nap. In my free two hours between naps, I ate a bagel, drank some water, watched random HGTV, read a couple of chapters in my book, and ate my pizza. I took four naps, and I slept for all of them. What can I say? I know how to sleep.
Or rather, I don’t. I nervously made and attended my follow up appointment. I was expecting them to ask me if I remembered ripping all the wires off and running around the hall naked or something. I mean, that would totally explain everything. Am I right?? It was not so interesting, though. The rundown was that during my insane sleep, I wasn’t really sleeping. I roused thirty three times. An hour. Normal is six or seven times. A night. Also, those nap studies? I really shouldn’t have been able to fall asleep so soon after sleeping for over 14 hours. Much less in three minutes that first nap. I certainly should not have hit REM sleep in 8 minutes much less during a 20 minute nap. On the bright side, it took me longer during that second nap? (Normal would be hitting REM during a NINETY MINUTE nap.) So, all the classic symptoms of narcolepsy. So, there were a couple of options. We started with the hope that the narcolepsy was caused by the not sleeping (and not the other way around). So, I left with a plan to change my prescription that I take at night to the morning to see if that was the problem, halving the dosage, then starting a sedative. I did each of those things, and the problem still continued to worsen. I was still waking up despite the sedative, and still getting more exhausted during the day. So, today I met with my sleepytime doctor. Anyone guess I have narcolepsy? If you did, you get a gold star!**
Now, I admit to not really knowing much about narcolepsy. I’ve heard the term, I know it has something to do with falling asleep easily. However, it’s pretty different than what I thought. It’s less I’m typing this blog pokjaf dkaroiyhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnCS
What? Huh? Where was I before I passed out and ruined my keyboard with drool?
It’s that you can fall asleep quickly and reach REM quickly. It’s that your sleep centers are screwed up and despite being exhausted and getting to sleep so easily, you can’t necessarily stay asleep or rest.
So, the short of it is, I will wean the sedative and add a stimulant in the morning. The idea is that the stimulant will suppress the sleepiness during the day, it will wear off in the afternoon, and because I wasn’t sleepy all day I will sleep at night. Right now I am operating at a major sleep deficit. So, I’m hoping this is the magic trick!
I’m also hoping that my blog title wasn’t a self fulfilled prophecy. If I start sprouting soft grey hair and a tail, I am changing my name to Fabulous Tilda Swinton, STAT.
*That wasn’t brought in by an employee to eat for lunch. So, no Trader Joe’s Indian for this lady.
**Not a real gold star. A virtual gold star you can keep in your mind to remember this moment.
Still trying to decide what I want my posting pattern to be. I feel like Friday should be something special. I thought about a links page, like some of my faves do, but 99% of the time I get the links from my faves, so I don’t really feel like they are original things I am sharing. It could be my squirrel day in honor of Narcky. I thought I might do a squirrel every day at one point, but that’s very many squirrels. Maybe a squirrel-a-Friday is doable? I need to simmer on that some more.
For now, I will just post and see where the bender takes me. Relatively recently I discovered the blog ofVeronica Varlow, Danger Dame. She immediately felt like a kindred spirit. She is living the type of life I envision for myself, and she is guiding me to add some things in my life that I know have been missing. Things that would make my grandmother proud. In fact, my grandma-ma may have had a hand in me finding these things, since my discovery of her blog coincided with her introducing what she calls “magic mondays.” Ways to believe in and manifest your dreams. My grandmother was a mystical type, and I’ve always felt the need for that in my life. So, one of the things I am working on right now is creating my circle of seven. I think the visual of a circle of talent and love surrounding me will be immensely helpful as I work toward my desires.
Would you like to see your circle of seven? Veronica does a great outline here. Go on and get inspired in 2013!