I finally slept last night, thank GOD. You have no idea how grateful you can be for the mere act of sleeping, if you haven't slept. Or maybe you do. I note a lot of middle-of-the-night-I'm-not-sleeping posts on Facebook. Is this a getting-old thing?
When I was a kid, I spent every Friday night at my grandmother's, and even though she had four bedrooms and five beds, I slept with her in her bed whenever I was there. I remember barely waking up to see her get out of bed 45 times a night. Or sometimes I'd wake up and see just the light of her cigarette ash in the living room while she sat in the dark. Being, you know, six, I'd drift right back off after.
Anyway, it'd been three nights in a row I've slept badly, and I was wondering how long till it actually kills you to not sleep, and why did my coworkers have horse's heads yesterday, and then to top it all off I had my BookUp yesterday.
Here are my friends Jo and Kit at the BookUp. We were originally going last week but it got postponed due to snow and ice and also snow. And ice. Anyway, a BookUp is a thing invented by Jo, where you all get together and read. We met at the new local bookstore, that also serves wine and coffee and food, and I did not even notice what Jo got last night but in the cold light of day it looks effing delicious.
Jo had a gift for me, because she's the kind of person who has gifts for you sometimes. I am never that kind of person. I am so not a girl.
Say, middle age! How're your eyes treating you? I enjoy having to play the trombone every time I attempt to read something without my reading glasses, which if you notice are right next to me anyway. Hey, middle age, how's your mind treating you? Also, you can see better the pretty ring Ned bought me for Christmas/our anniversary of dating. I like Ned.
She got me a new Venus razor! A few weeks ago I blogged about my harrowing experience buying a Rite Aid razor. Anyway, thanks, Jo. You're the fire of my desire.
And note my heels. I decided this week that my ankle was strong enough to get back to heels, because apparently I'm Carrie Bradshaw without the svelte. On my way in to the bookstore, there was a large group of hoodlums at a convenience store right next door, and they all complimented me on my heels. Naturally I took time out to tell each Crip about my sprained ankle and my return to heels, and maybe they were Crips Light or the Light in the Loafers gang, but they listened to the whole diatribe and even seemed interested. I have no idea where my ATM card is.
Anyway, look how cute. I love Ned. He always looks like he abhors me in every picture I ever take. Maybe he does, and I'm so completely delusional that I have no idea. "Would you please stop following me. I just want to read my book and possibly hit on Jo or Kit." And I'm all, "Ned loves me!!"
Despite hating me, Ned asked if I'd like him to make dinner for me afterward, and even though I'd had a tortilla with cheese, avocado and grape tomatoes before I got there, I said yes. Please see above reference to Carrie Bradshaw. And what I am saying to you, is while he was cooking, I watched him, and just like sometimes when I'm eating something and Tallulah focuses on me and her eyes droop at the same time, because what she'd really like to do is sleep and eat simultaneously, I pretty much passed out before dinner was served.
So I was asleep by 10:30, and do not remember waking up even once. And I could go right back to bed and sleep another eight hours, I promise you, but now I must go to work like a grownup.
Oh, but by the way, my ankle is not happy with me today. I think I may have pushed it with the heels thing. When I got out of bed, my ankle was yelling, and I have no idea why my ankle would sound like Mickey from Rocky–remember? His old grizzled coach?–but that's how it sounded. "Hey what's the idea? Whattaya doin' to me, with the heels? I oughta… WIN, ROCK. WIN!"
June. Limping out.