At the risk of sounding like a gosh darn Readers' Digest article, I really should not have gotten out of bed yesterday. Oddly enough, my new "Action is lord of all!" mantra hasn't quite got me to Nirvana yet and I am still highly (highly) susceptible to all the crap the universe has to offer. For newer readers (hey, you two), I suffer from mild seasonal insomnia. I've tried to analyze why this developed and epiphanized that it was because I have gotten too good at striving for the ideal. Well aware of my character flaws, I can confidently state that my biggest one is attempting to a render a situation as close to perfection as possible, usually with hilarious results. I'm the guy constantly fidgeting in movies to get more comfortable; the guy who says delightfully cinematic lines on the first date to which the response is usually, "Huh?"; the guy whose order at Starbucks requires several legal pads, 3 sharpies and a shift change to process. Yes, I am that guy. High maintenance? Perhaps, but really it's only when it comes to my own environment and hopefully I do not inflict this burden on others.
Getting back to the matter at hand, I have so perfected the art of conditioned sleep that when something is awry, it just doesn't happen. I have to be tired, but not over-tired as that leads to restlessness and Facebook; it has to be cold, with my feet outside of the covers; has to have a little background noise (a fan, wave machine, some guy I hired to sit beside my bed to read me stories). I'm not sure if it was too hot or too dry or that Rick (the reader) was a little throaty, but it wasn't happening. I would get close to falling asleep, think, "Heck yes! I'm almost asleep!" and wake up. So much fail. The failure was so great, in fact, that I slept through my alarm and had to leave a voicemail for my supervisor 5 minutes before I was supposed to be there. All this would have been bad enough if it was not for the fact that she was out of the office that morning so no one knew where I was. Her supervisor called the staffing agency who called me: "Hi, David. This is Jen...Great, how's it going?...Good. So I'm just wondering if you're going into work today."
Nothing makes me feel I'm 10 years old again like someone putting forth a rhetorical question about my ineptitude. It just makes me feel like such a failure at life. "Why, yes, Jen. Just after I've finished huffing some hairspray, having unprotected sex with this here hooker and shooting an orphan, I absolutely plan on making an appearance." Really, I don't feel that it's Jen's fault. She probably deals with a lot of miscreants and ne'er-do-wells over at The Agency and these phone calls are a pretty routine necessity. I just felt so shamed, like a puppy who crapped on the carpet. There's so much more dignity in intentionally being badass and crapping on the carpet. Like, FUCK YES! I CRAPPED ON THIS CARPET! BEHOLD: CRAP! LO: CARPET! As it was, I didn't really do either. If anything, I kinda gave a heads-up that I was gonna crap on the carpet: "Just to warn you, I had some bad paella last night and crap on the carpet is hiiiiighly likely. We cool? Great. Kthxbai."
"I should never have gotten out of bed this morning..."
There are so many instances and varieties thereupon for this phrase.
"I should never have gotten out of bed this morning...because I have no arms or legs. Rolling onto the ground was not smart." Waramps Champ.
"I should never have gotten out of bed this morning...cause my pimp still had one more guy lined up." Epic fail: prostitution. That's, like, your crack money for a couple days. Way to go.
"I should have gotten out of bed this morning. Instead, I died peacefully in my sleep." Wow. Um. That's sad.
"I should have gotten out of bed, just someone else's." The great thing about sleeping with someone (in the literal sense) is that even if you can't quite manage the sleep, that is hours of bankable cuddle time. Plus, if they are asleep, you can totally manipulate the positions. These are the things I think about. And look, I'm not advocating promiscuity but honestly, it can really inspire fatigue, especially for guys. When I'm done, it's like, "Ok, now let's do y-Zzzzzz..." Occasionally, I'll have a sandwich first, but really that's it. And when it doesn't happen for a long time *cough*three months*cough*, there are consequences. Personally, I over-love my pillows. It's serious. I have done things to those pillows in my sleep that will require years of therapy. For them. Cause let me tell you, Tide can erase many a blotch, but the stain of my loving is just too tough a job.
I think I intended that last sentence to be far less disturbing than it actually turned out to be. Oh what the hell, I already referenced Waramps falling out bed. My gondola to Hell is under construction.
Hehe, cause they don't have limbs...
Getting back to the matter at hand, I have so perfected the art of conditioned sleep that when something is awry, it just doesn't happen. I have to be tired, but not over-tired as that leads to restlessness and Facebook; it has to be cold, with my feet outside of the covers; has to have a little background noise (a fan, wave machine, some guy I hired to sit beside my bed to read me stories). I'm not sure if it was too hot or too dry or that Rick (the reader) was a little throaty, but it wasn't happening. I would get close to falling asleep, think, "Heck yes! I'm almost asleep!" and wake up. So much fail. The failure was so great, in fact, that I slept through my alarm and had to leave a voicemail for my supervisor 5 minutes before I was supposed to be there. All this would have been bad enough if it was not for the fact that she was out of the office that morning so no one knew where I was. Her supervisor called the staffing agency who called me: "Hi, David. This is Jen...Great, how's it going?...Good. So I'm just wondering if you're going into work today."
Nothing makes me feel I'm 10 years old again like someone putting forth a rhetorical question about my ineptitude. It just makes me feel like such a failure at life. "Why, yes, Jen. Just after I've finished huffing some hairspray, having unprotected sex with this here hooker and shooting an orphan, I absolutely plan on making an appearance." Really, I don't feel that it's Jen's fault. She probably deals with a lot of miscreants and ne'er-do-wells over at The Agency and these phone calls are a pretty routine necessity. I just felt so shamed, like a puppy who crapped on the carpet. There's so much more dignity in intentionally being badass and crapping on the carpet. Like, FUCK YES! I CRAPPED ON THIS CARPET! BEHOLD: CRAP! LO: CARPET! As it was, I didn't really do either. If anything, I kinda gave a heads-up that I was gonna crap on the carpet: "Just to warn you, I had some bad paella last night and crap on the carpet is hiiiiighly likely. We cool? Great. Kthxbai."
"I should never have gotten out of bed this morning..."
There are so many instances and varieties thereupon for this phrase.
"I should never have gotten out of bed this morning...because I have no arms or legs. Rolling onto the ground was not smart." Waramps Champ.
"I should never have gotten out of bed this morning...cause my pimp still had one more guy lined up." Epic fail: prostitution. That's, like, your crack money for a couple days. Way to go.
"I should have gotten out of bed this morning. Instead, I died peacefully in my sleep." Wow. Um. That's sad.
"I should have gotten out of bed, just someone else's." The great thing about sleeping with someone (in the literal sense) is that even if you can't quite manage the sleep, that is hours of bankable cuddle time. Plus, if they are asleep, you can totally manipulate the positions. These are the things I think about. And look, I'm not advocating promiscuity but honestly, it can really inspire fatigue, especially for guys. When I'm done, it's like, "Ok, now let's do y-Zzzzzz..." Occasionally, I'll have a sandwich first, but really that's it. And when it doesn't happen for a long time *cough*three months*cough*, there are consequences. Personally, I over-love my pillows. It's serious. I have done things to those pillows in my sleep that will require years of therapy. For them. Cause let me tell you, Tide can erase many a blotch, but the stain of my loving is just too tough a job.
I think I intended that last sentence to be far less disturbing than it actually turned out to be. Oh what the hell, I already referenced Waramps falling out bed. My gondola to Hell is under construction.
Hehe, cause they don't have limbs...
3 comments:
Love, love, LOVE this post Davey!
Having written this post is enough reason to have gotten out of bed today, unless you can blog from in bed.. in which case, just stay there and become an author. Seriously!
I'm coming to the Peg in a week, and P-Biddy wants to see YOU!
OhMyGosh, I didn't even see it the first time... GLITTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The movie Glitter has left an indelible mark on my soul.
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