Saturday, September 23, 2006


To Sleep, Perchance to Punch Myself in the Head

I'm gigglesnorting madly, as I quaff yet another bucket of coffee. I think the coffee's going to be all that keeps me alive today.

It certainly won't be the sleep.

You see, I'm not a tosser (all my UK friends may stop chuckling right now) or a turner or a flailer-abouter when I sleep. I'm the sort of person who, if the bed is made, can lift the corner of the quilt and slide under, and then in the morning, slide back out from under the quilt and not have to remake the bed.

This is a good thingie and such, as really I only make the bed about once a week, and that only recently since I decided that with the advent of new (free! Yay for people shacking up and giving me their living room suite!) furniture, it was time to start behaving as, well, even if we live like we're trailer trash, at least we might try to live like the sort of trailer trash who have a double-wide, you know?

But I digress.

This morning when I got home from work I discovered that not only was Ben up and ready to go to work, the sproglet was awake too. So I made lunch for Ben, urged Eleanor to put on some sort of outfit (purple Dora the Explorer pajama pants and an inside-out peacock blue turtleneck long-sleeved t-shirt. Kid gets her sense of style from me.) and piled everyone into the van so we could drive daddy to work. Got back home about 6:45 or so and Little Miss "I Never Eat Breakfast or get up before 10am" demanded eggs and toast. Made the eggs and toast, ate the yolks on some toast myself (she only eats the whites) and then crawled off to bed for what had dwindled to a possible two hours of sleep.

I was freezing cold and somehow managed to twist myself into some pretzelly-shape to try to get warm. And then, apparently about 15 minutes after I got warm enough to drift off, I decided to swear off my lifelong pledge of non-flailery and punch myself in the head.

Out of the blue. For no reason that I have yet been able to discern.

So, um, that was sort of it for the two hours of sleep. What with the punching and the hysterical laughing and then the further insane demands for food from the munchkin, those longed-for two hours of sleep turned into fifteen minutes of napping (and a second or two of punchery).

I'm off to face the day as best I can (birthday party, then housecleaning, then 8 hours of work) and I suspect that the coffee will be flowing like, um, like a flowy thing. That tastes of coffee.

If any of y'all happen to have made a voodoo doll of me and are making it punch itself in the head, would you be kind enough to stop it right about now?

Thank you in advance.

It doesn't sound like you ever stay in bed long enough to muss the covers, flailery er not.

If it were me, no sleep would definately be a damn good excuse for no housework either.
UK person who has just had to stop chuckling here!

Mind you, the thought of just 15 minutes sleep is enough to wipe the smile off anyone's face...
I'm making a voodoo stashweasel for whoever has made a voodoo doll of you. They're going to regret that punch.

I'm laughing at you in a totally supportive and sympathetic way, my dear.
I have not one witty thing to say in response, but just wanted to hug you from afar because you are such a funny read...and you totally crack me up... and you totally made my day.

Now go to bed.
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