Why can't I sleep? Maybe it's because I have a ton of shit on my mind. Or maybe it's because I can't get comfortable. Perhaps I'm not sleepy. Ohhh, wait...I know...it's the 200mg of caffeine in the form of a nodoz that I popped at 5:30.
I was dragging ass at work. I was pissed off (we'll get to that later), I was sweating like, I believe the expression is: "a whore in church" because Curt refuses to use any unnecessary electricity and apparently Mother Nature has forgotten that it's February, and the garlic bread I ate was sitting heavily on my stomach. So, yeah, drowsy. After a yawn that made me feel like my jaw was being ripped off as if I were one of Jigsaw's victims, I decided to take the aforementioned nodoz. Once upon a time, caffeine didn't affect me much, other than to make me a bit more alert. Recently, though, I have been drinking only water, which contains no caffeine, and therefore my tolerance for it has dwindled. Or maybe vanished. Probably the latter considering I took it almost 8 hours ago and I'm still wide the fuck awake.
Today started out just fine and dandy. I got up and took Heather to work because she had to be there at the asscrack of dawn and I wasn't scheduled until 11. I dropped her off, came back home, and slept for a couple more hours. When my alarm went off, I hit "snooze" twice, then got out of bed, took a shower, fed the animals, and drove to work with the window half way down because it was just that damn nice outside. That may seem like a normal morning activity to the average reader, but my fans know that my usual mornings are more like: listen to Heather's alarm going off every 3 minutes until it's 15 minutes past the absolute latest we should have been up...bolt out of bed...raise hell under my breath while getting dressed...trip over this, that, & the other on my way to the bathroom...scream at small, furry creatures that scamper under and around my feet as I'm rushing through the hall to the kitchen...nearly kill myself trying to climb over the little gate in the doorway of the kitchen that prevents one of the small, furry creatures from eating the droppings of the other...gather drinks and whatnot to take to work...do my last minute mental checklist before I leave: hat? check. phone? check. keys? check. backpack? check. did I put deodorant on? FUCK!...back through the hallway, trip over random shit, apply stink-no-more, and then go through the checklist again because I dropped everything I had ready when I went back to the bedroom...head out the door, now 30 minutes late. As you can see, this morning was much nicer.
The lunch rush wasn't too horrible today. I was on a register instead of in Hell's Kitchen. I didn't have any asshole customers, and it didn't take long to clean up the dining room. Cake.
Then I get the news that my car, which has been undergoing repairs for the last 3 days and should have been running by today, won't be running until...
It turns out that the guy I originally gave $150 to because he said it would be fixed that week (this was in November, by the way) fucked it up worse than it was when it broke down. And not only did he not fix it, not even attempt to work on it, but the fucker never gave me my money back. It took months for him just to bring my key back. So anyhoo....
I have to pay about $600 more than I was expecting in order to (hopefully) get my car running. Every dime I had set aside from my income tax for my car is gone. Plus it still needs a lot of other shit. What my Mr. Fix-It guy is doing now will just get it running again. So that's where the "pissed off" came from. I guess there's really nothing I can do other than take a deep breath and know that it could be worse.
On a slightly brighter note, my hook-up from Bridgestone Arena came in today with tickets to Ozzy for tonight. That was completely awesome of him! Unfortunately I didn't go. Heather pointed out that by the time we got off work, came home and took showers, and got out there, the best of the show would be over. Plus we were both tired. So we called around and found someone who wanted the tickets. I'm just stoked that hook-up guy gave them to me.
When I got home from work, I went straight to the Nintendo. I'm not talking about a DS, or a what-the-fuck-ever they've got out nowadays....I'm talking the original NES. Oh, yeah, baby! Heather bought me the most awesome game of all time. I've been looking for it for years. Everytime I would go into a Great Escape or a GameTrader I would look for this game. It appeared that I had imagined the whole thing. Then, alas, ebay! Ebay is the place to find it. Whatever "it" is, you can get one on ebay. So Heather got me the game. It's called "Rainbow Islands."
I played this game when I was 6 or 7 years old. It's this little dude, named Bubby, who lives on a string of 7 islands. Apparently some evil guy is trying to do some evil shit and take over or something...that part's not important. What matters is that Bubby has to find 7 little diamonds on each of the islands to get the big diamond for that island. So 49 little diamonds, total. You follow? Anyway, to kill his enemies, which range from insects to hovering nuts, bolts, & wrenches, to flying vampires and ghosts that shit fire balls (and that's just so far, i'm only on the 4th island), he shoots rainbows from his hands. RAINBOWS! he can climb the rainbows and jump on them to make them fall on the bad guys. It's so freakin' awesome! Now, maybe I'm reading too much into it, but could my early love of rainbows have been a sign of the lesbian I would grow up to be? Hmmm... (please know that I'm not serious)
So yeah. I played Rainbow Islands for a few hours and then I went to bed. Heather was already asleep. Her no feels good. She's got 4 very painful-looking stitches in her forehead because she wouldn't quit talking shit and I had to put the smack down. Taught that a bitch a lesson she won't soon forget! (something fell on her head when she was rumaging in the packed-beyond-its-containment-capabilities closet). I tried to go to sleep. I swear I did. I took slow, deep breaths. I tensed and then relaxed every muscle starting with my toes and ending with my face (a relaxation technique I learned in one of psychotherapy lessons), I counted sheep. Ok, not sheep, but I did count. I like to count backwards from 1000. 999, 998, 997, 996, 995, 994, 993, 992, 991, 990, 989, 988, 987, 986, 985, 984, 983, 982, 981, 980, 979, 978, 977...
Wow. That's weird. I tried that laying in bed with my eyes closed and it didn't work. I do it sitting up with a bright-ass computer screen in my face, and I'm suddenly unable to hold my eyes open. And here come the yawns. Two in a row. I guess I should go lay back down and pick up at 976.
Nighty-night
