what happens when i sleep
June 30, 2008
for as long as i can remember, i’ve been a solid sleeper. (except for a brief stint of insomnia in seventh grade when i was bullied the entire year for being flat chested and uninterested in makeup or hair products. not much has changed, but at least i sleep better).
sleeping brings me a great amount of joy. my bed is among the greatest places on earth. i ease into it with my big down comforter and plethora of pillows, slide into position, and away i go on a journey that sometimes leaves me feeling LESS rested upon waking.
i think i have a problem when i sleep. my dreams are ultra vivid and, most of the time, are actually somewhat applicable to real life. more than once, i’ve dreamed that someone at work has said or done something; then, when i wake and go to work, i bring it up as if it ACTUALLY HAPPENED, and people have to say, “i don’t remember this,” in which case i immediately realize i made it up and have to apologize for dreaming something into existence… or nonexistence, i guess.
the worst is when my fantasies come true in my dreams. suddenly, i’m in places with people doing things i only imagine doing, but while i’m unconscious, it seems delightfully realistic. when i awake, i feel exhausted from experiencing so much joy. i’m then immediately disappointed it wasn’t real. it’s the one-two punch following a night of gloriousnessness.
the worst beyond the worst is when i dream of scary things like tornadoes, people chasing me, or loved ones dying. i wake up with crust in my eyes from crying all night. but i’m instantly elated it wasn’t real.
all this goes to define the phrase, “sweet dreams,” which i’m pretty sure i don’t want anyone to say to me. the sweetest dreams are great, but ultimately totally fake, and they leave me dissatisfied upon waking, where real life really matters.
“mediocre dreams” might make me feel more rested and less restless. i’ll aim for those tonight.
geronimo
June 29, 2008
yesterday, as will and i drove along the south side of 495 on our way to merriweather for thievery corporation w/ seu jorge & tv on the radio, we noticed something seemingly normal: a deer crossing sign.
beware! (it shouted). deer crossing. don’t hit any. we warned you.
but look closer at the geography surrounding our eight-lane monster highway, and you’d be surprised. like we were.
see, there are these enormously tall retaining walls made of tons and tons of concrete. they are super high. they certainly don’t look like the wild; a place where deer could simply wandering aimlessly out of and ignorantly into the beaming high lights of an oncoming semi tracking 85.
which got will and i thinking: that would be MUCH MUCH cooler if deer could actually parachute off the concrete walls. instead of trying to cross the busy highway by walking all the way around the giant retaining wall — i mean, we’re talking miles — what if the deer just strapped on a giant umbrella fashioned by its herd — it’d be made of leaves or something — and leaped off the tall wall only to glide peacefully into oncoming traffic?
the sign could look like this instead:
yes, please.
cat puke
June 24, 2008
i have a cat. normally i find myself apologizing for it, in a way. 99 percent of people hate cats. i used to be one of them. i’ve never been a cat person, but when i saw her sitting in her cage at the humane society — after having been there for 30 days without anyone taking her out to play with her and doomed for lawd knows what — i caved. she feels like a bunny. she has a lazy eye. she uses her litter box perfectly. she talks whenever you talk to her. even though i have no idea what she’s saying. and most of the time i’m just saying things like “steeky, you have a tiny brain!” and “come get your gelatenous blob of food stinky!”
she doesn’t tear up furniture. she isn’t a lap cat. she doesn’t get on furniture or any of the counters or table tops in the place — at least not when i’m around.
but she pukes. she gets super excited about eating said gelatenous blog of unidentifiable fish parts and gravy. she chats and meows and runs around while i get ready to feed her. then she grazes all day long.
every one in a while, she gets over zealous and eats like i do on thanksgiving. the difference is, i lay around feeling miserable whereas she rids herself of misery by yakking it up, only to start again, hopefully with less fervor.
tonight, as i enjoyed a super hot (and well deserved) shower, will cleaned up “the largest puke ever.”
i love my roommate. right now, not so much my cat.
testing my limits
June 21, 2008
i’m pretty sure my limits get tested every day. this makes for lots of stressful moments in a week. but luckily they’re just moments; me five years ago would have let them ruin my month.
anyway, if i’m not being tested and work with (testy) clients or at the gym with my trainer (who tests my endurance) or in the car with people who stop at speed humps (to test their brakes?), then i’m being tested in the personal life i’m trying desperately to keep drama free.
sometimes, when that all feels overwhelming — like it’s all coming together at the same time — i’m pretty sure that moving is the answer. or taking after forrest gump and just run (and keep running). the problem is that i know better. it’s a test of my patience, ultimately, and i guess my breaking point.
sometimes i wish i knew already, so i could relax during the trip. like, i wish i had one of those meters you see in the town square of villages that looks like a thermometer and shows how much money’s been raised toward the goal for a new high school football stadium. at the bottom it could say “pretty much ok” and the middle, “not awesome;” top can say “see ya later.” so anybody who contributes to my limit meter can see the measurement move up or down as i respond.
i better talk to my patent office (engineer) pal. i think this is a winner.
