Yeah, so, here’s the thing.
If I was smart, I’d be going to bed right now, exactly 12 hours after the last time I got up. But instead I feel like writing, and I feel like maybe I should do that, because I haven’t done this very much lately. Last night, there was some of the usual, involving dinner and what should have been bowling but turned out to be coffee due to league night at Elsie’s. Which was fine, because I was tired. Not so much sleepy as fall-down-and-die, you know? It’s no good. So I came home and was really proud to be in bed by 11:30. My alarm went off at 6:30, and I dragged my ass into upright position around 7am, having finally spent a fair number of consecutive hours in my new bed1. But it seemed to have done no good, because I was still tired and more crabby than usual. I was standing at the kitchen counter making my sandwich, and I felt a twinge in the middle of my back. I shifted and felt it tense and pinch, like a pulled muscle. And that’s when I realized things were really starting to go downhill; I had injured myself making my lunch. I headed to the coffeeshop, where I told Clara, “I feel terrible. If you were to tell me not to go to work today, I wouldn’t.” She said, “You say that every day!” Which isn’t exactly true, I just complain a lot. I told her that this time I really meant it, so she told me to call in sick, and that’s what I did. Then I called Heather, and asked her if she wanted to meet me for breakfast. We had breakfast, and I got to know someone I’m starting to like a lot a little better, and he gave us free dessert. So I had a scone in addition to oatmeal, and left there full and happy and still way too tired. I was going to go to Target and the bank before heading home for a while, but managed to forget about Target and the bank within the span of 5 miles. I went home and fell into bed2, curling my feet up in the cat-warm spot recently vacated by two fat animals on a trip to the food dish. I had dreams. First, I dreamt about the person I’m starting to like a lot, and I’m not going into detail here, but it featured a 70s-style guitar making that waka-chicka sound. So I’m hoping it was more of a presentiment than a dream. Then I dreamt that our toilet had been removed in a surprise remodeling effort. Then I dreamt that my new featherbed had exploded weird little seeds all over the room in a gigantic mess. I was shaking them out my hair and clothes and they were flying everywhere. I woke up and was relieved to find a clean room. I was cold but too sleepy to figure out the part about getting underneath the blanket instead of on top, so my solution was to put my hand between my thighs to warm it up. Only the space between my thighs made that ineffective (Heather and I have had this argument more than once: me – Look at this! I’m bowlegged! her: – You’re not bowlegged! me – But look! I am! her – No, you’re not! [Repeat from beginning, at least four more times.]), so I ended up with my hand curled warmly in my crotch instead. I really love sleep-reasoning, and I’m also really glad I was alone in the house, because I’d hate to have someone walking in on that. After that, I dreamed that I was driving near Heather’s work, and was pissed because it was 3pm and I had slept away a perfectly good day off. Then I dreamt that there was a message on my cell, but I couldn’t get it because the buttons didn’t work. That’s because Heather had called to make sure I didn’t sleep all day. I got up and went to lunch. At the next table, there was this cute little vegetarian boy eating alone. He left at the same time we did, and headed off on foot. I dropped Heather off and drove over to Soovac to look for a birthday card, and passed the cute boy walking along 28th Street. As I emerged from Bob’s Java Hut, I passed him again, walking down Lyndale Avenue. I’m thinking he’s probably good luck. After that came a bunch of errands and a bunch of people and laundry and felting my new knitting bag and cleaning and Yuri’s gallery’s 1st anniversary party at Barbette and dinner and the gym and after all that, a business meeting at 9pm, because that’s the only time I had to fit it in. I got to Starbucks early and pulled out my knitting, which is the obi part of this Japanese-inspired sweater that I’ll probably have finished just in time for winter 2006. As I sat and waited for Jordan3, another guy came up and said hi. I wasn’t sure if he was the person I was waiting for, so I talked to him. We discussed my knitting and the always-fascinating topic of the weather. Finally, I realized he was just a guy who sat around Starbucks trying to pick up chicks. Thankfully, he left, and then Jordan showed up, and all was well. After the meeting, I went to the grocery store and came home and promptly wanted to die of exhaustion again. Jason called and I rehashed my cancer theory, which goes something like this:- The obvious issue here is that I’ve been sick twice in a little over a month, I won’t take a break to give myself time to recover, I’m too busy, and I’ve been dealing with a certain amount of extra emotional stress due to recent events.
- The obvious solution here is to take a break and give myself time to recover.
- I don’t like that solution.
- Therefore, I have cancer.
Jenni
1 The most comfortable block of granite I’ve ever slept on.
Speaking of which, I haven’t described my new room, which used to be known as the office. Right now it’s my new queen-sized mattress on the floor (I can’t decide whether to build a platform or buy one, so for now it’s college-student chic), some bookshelves with stuff like free weights and computer junk and my Russian books and a metal basket of socks and underwear, two filing cabinets, a printer, a scanner, a hub and wireless router that flash enthusiastically at me all night long, and usually, more cats than I’d generally prefer.
I think Chloe in particular has chosen my room as her den because the bed is close to the floor, and it’s therefore much easier to heft her bulk up onto it. (Chloe resembles a cat in biology alone; in all other respects, she’s closer to something in the hippo family.)
Also, I considered posting ‘before’ photos of my room to demonstrate just how ugly it is, but without the ‘after’ photos to temper the horror, it’s just not possible. You’d cry, and so would I.
2 You probably don’t find this as alarming as I do. I never take naps. Honestly, I’ve probably intentionally taken 5 naps in my entire adult life, and all of them occurred while I was on the verge of death.
3 Who had found me via my work profile on Orkut. Unbelievable, no? So Friendster was all about hooking up (I base this on common knowledge, as well as my own personal stats: met 1, slept with 1, 100% hookups. OK, maybe those stats are a little skewed.), so I didn’t expect much of Orkut. Anyway. I guess it has promise.