Jul 26 2004

Hasselhoff or Yanni?

You decide. Either choice is upsetting. I’m gonna go hide under my bed now.

Apr 9 2004

Can’t Sleep, Clowns Will Eat Me

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.


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.

Jan 23 2004


Cap’n ‘Roo died. RIP, Cap’n ;-(