inkgrrl's inkblog

I’ve now filled my gastank for the second time, and am happy to report less than a .02 mpg variance in my mileage from the first tank of gas – I’m averaging 30.6 mpg in my beautiful little MINI. Yes folks, 30.6 MILES PER GALLON. WOO!!! Lest you think I’m a bit overwrought by this, I live in California where the sun always shines and we pay through the nose for the privilege of driving around in it (try $2.40 a gallon). And my previous transport was an SUV that, while comfy and eminently practical for hauling around loads of whatever, averaged about 16 mpg. I’ve almost doubled my mileage. Again I say WOO!!!

Joe Katzman of Winds of Change has been profiled by Normblog, and I have to pass along one of his statements as words to live by:

“All the really important stuff in life is ‘come as you are’. You never know what you may be called on for, or when – which means your foundations need to be as right as you can make them.”

I’ve been busy reworking my foundations the last year-and-a-half so this statement really spoke to me – I’ve been going through the process of getting divorced from the man who used to be my best friend, selling my house, cleaning out my closets, strengthening my body and clearing my mind. I’m not done yet, but I’m happy with the direction things are going. I’ve been digging up old shit and throwing it away, breaking new ground in some places that feel strangely familiar and in some other places that scare me, relearning and reinforcing truths that I’d forgotten. And above all, I’ve been blessed with the knowledge that I am graced by the presence of those around me, those who love me and are loved by me, those who have stood fast by my side through the firestorms of the past and who will stand fast with me through whatever may come.

Life is good.

All’s I gotta say about the situation in the Middle East today is that you never saw any red-blooded American strap a belt full of Peeps around his waste and blow some grandma’s blood-sugar levels all over the street… clearly, our cultural meme is superior. In case you need further persuading, here are a couple of little combat training exercises for the 21st Century, Peeps-style.

No, it’s not the latest bumper sticker for my new car, it’s how I’m feeling… not that I wouldn’t like to sleep. In fact, I’d like to very much. Just seems like I can’t manage enough of it lately. All kinds of things in my head about that – I come from a line of people who don’t need more than 4-5 hours a night. I’m dating a guy who doesn’t need more than 5-6 hours a night. I need 6-8, depending on how much exercise I’ve been getting, how much the job has been eating my brain, how much pain I’ve been in with the knees and other crap I’ve been dealing with lately that I’ve been too grumpy to blog about (I have standards here… I believe that a good blog entry should have more than just a string of profanities in 7 different languages). If I’m writing and on a burn with it, I’ll wake up after about 6 hours all rarin’ to go and hit the keyboard, the notepad… hell, I’ll even scribble on the back flaps of a paperback if that’s all I’ve got close to the bed and pen (note to self, keep notebook next to bed for writing emergencies). I feel like a wimp. I should be able to get by on less sleep and function just fine. THEY all do it. Bastards.

*whimper*

So of late, I’m not punch-drunk, exactly. I just feel all muzzy and greyed out in my head, like a screenfull of static is playing an endless loop in my mind. Part of the exhaustion has been a new learning curve at the day job, part of it has been dealing with assorted and sundry physical stuff, and part of it has been wondering what to do next. I’m tempted to hole up in my apartment with 5 boxes of pizza, a couple liters of Coke, and my PlayStation and ignore everything, but since that would only get me even more overstimulated than I already am and would definitely not lead to restful sleep in any way, I’m thinking not. Charming an image as it is ;->

Maybe I need Provigil. Maybe I need more sleep. Maybe I need someone to protect me from the clowns in my head by beating me repeatedly over same until I pass out and thus get rest. Think I’ll get a triple latte instead. Hey, it’s a stopgap, and no post-concussion syndrome (BTDT – no thank you very much). And look ma, well-caffeinated, I’m writing! I even got a rhyme in there. Sorta.