Friday, October 02, 2015

Cold Medicine Induced Hallucinations

I think I may have spelled "hallucinations" incorrectly.
Huh. Blogger says nope. Well all right then.

I've been a miserable coughing shell of an actual human for the past three weeks or so, with a cold or allergies or a malicious and truly disgusting phlegm alien taking up unwelcome residence in my lungs. I'm tired. I'm on every cold drug known to man and and an allergy deterrent...and I'm still sucking cough drops like mad (none of which does me any good). This is not a plea for pity: this is an explanation for the possibly-drug-induced weirdness lately.

Blogger says I've had over 25,000 views in the last month, and yesterday for the first time ever I had over 1000. Because Blogger's stat tracker doesn't count traffic to the other pages of the blog, and 99% of the more-than-50 views are on my "about me" page and not on an actual post, I suspect it's a bot. Still, I did a double take today, having been too tired or sick to even look here in the past week. This could be cough-drop drunkenness, after all.

I flew to Houston to meet The Bloggess on her book tour at midnight on Thursday and home at 6am on Saturday because I'm fucking insane cheap and had limited PTO, but I didn't want to miss it. I'm sorry to all the people on the plane who might have thought I was sicker than I am (I coughed hard enough to break some capillaries in my cheeks, so I looked like I had the measles, which is SUPER ATTRACTIVE you guys...I DO NOT have the measles or anything else worse than a cold and allergies, and my cold was already in the non-communicable stage).

Friday night my super awesome friend Jodie and I sat in a very warm (90 degree) back parking lot in a mini-mall, next to a dumpster, behind a medium-sized metal chicken and various curler-headed red dress wearing fans. If you aren't a Bloggess fan that entire run-on sentence made absolutely no sense to you, and for that I'm sorry (not that it didn't make sense...I'm a sorry you aren't a Bloggess fan, because you're missing some serious excellence). I'm not kidding, I thought the chair might collapse under me. The crowd gave Jenny Lawson a standing ovation when she crawled out of the dumpster walked onstage. It was awesome. Her reading was awesome. And I finished my copy of Furiously Happy in two evenings. It's that good. Go get it. And if you meet her, don't be a dick and make her cry like I did (by accident!! When she found out I flew from MN to TX for the signing she teared up, and I said "Oh god, don't cry! I CAN'T BE THE ONE WHO MADE THE BLOGGESS CRY!").

Seriously...all those metal chickens angry with me? No, thank you.

Colds turn me into an 80 year old: I'm utterly wiped out by 6pm. In the last three weeks I think the only reason I saw darkness at all was because it's fall and the damn sun is disappearing. It's pathetic. All that sleep gives me ample opportunity for all the most horrific dreams to replay in cinematic glory in my brain.

I've been eaten by sharks twice ( all fairness that one may be my own fault. I HAVE been looking into doing a great white shark dive off the coast of San Francisco...but that's another post).

My eyeballs have been taken by spiders as web decorations. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, BRAIN??

The dogs have died in front of me in such varied and horrifying detail I wake up shaking and crying, and I break all the rules and bring Thor up on the bed (even though his panting shakes the whole fucking thing and makes me think of those creepy vibrating beds in movies and D minus hotels) just so I can be sure he's breathing.

I've fallen off cliffs into a black abyss with no bottom six times. I know this one sounds the least terrifying. It is not. This is the one that sticks with me for hours after I wake up, and on the really fun versions I'm joined by some sort of people-are-tasty-snacks type cave creature.

I think it was just my body's way of forcing me into preparations for October's Halloween extravaganza, but seriously...I'm so damn tired. 

Also, the spider eyeball thing was just over the top. Really. 

Monday, September 21, 2015

Filed under: UTTERLY worth the 6am flight.

In T-Minus (wait, did I just write the equivalent of T minus minus? Whatever: you know what I meant) three days + one business day melting in Houston...

I get to see The Bloggess!

Live and in person (which may mean under a table, which I completely understand and support).

I can't wait to see how many Rorys are floating around in the crowd. Wait...Crowd surfing Rory...hmm...this should happen.

If you have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, I say go forth and read both of her books immediately. Or get lost in her blog for a couple of days. Well worth the time.

Oh shit. Does this mean I'll be reading Furiously Happy on the plane on my way home Saturday?

Dear fellow passengers at 6:40am: I will not apologize for the snortling. I promise when I start to wheeze and cough I'll put it down and knock myself out with a Dramamine for the rest of the flight.

Tuesday, September 08, 2015

I Broke My Funny Bone

Actually, I think I severely sprained my writing-anything-amusing bone. That should not be confused with a writing boner, which is really a different genre entirely.

I started a new job last week, and while I really like the team and the culture (and hello, benefits) I do miss setting my own schedule. The rebel in me chafes a bit on principle.

The point is: the past week or so has been pretty close to the first week of school when I was a kid. It takes me an adjustment period, and during that time I sleep like absolute shit. And therefore start nodding off around 8pm...because I'm a super exciting party...(yawn).

Tonight I stupidly decided the long hike would be good, since it's been a while, I was home by 5, and I'm apparently a sucker when my idiot brain says "seriously, this'll be great for us!"

The long hike is 3.5 miles in a park with demonically steep hills about every 200 yards. The first few are actually sort of helpful: imagine a large, out of tune orchestra playing bits of SOMETHING all together so you can't focus on one thing. If I don't have a way to expunge the surface garbage of news headlines and how gross I think a vegan recipe for mac and cheese would taste, it's harder to get to the good stuff.

I have a couple choices for feng-shui-ing my brain. First: journaling. I learned the Natalie Goldberg "wild mind" method in high school creative writing class, and that shit still works to get the Lucky Charms demented Leprechaun weird images out. Meditation works too. Sometimes opening my yap and spilling rainbow flavored verbal diarrhea works, but that's just...well, it's rude.


Exercise works because I can pretty literally sweat out all the toxic brain bits. Hiking works better than anything else because running makes me want to puke and swimming, while I do love it, puts me in real danger of inhaling chlorine water mid-evil-thought and drowning. I suppose there are worse ways to go...and now I'm thinking about poop again. Sigh. I'm so damned ladylike.

Plus, hiking is more of an adventure. Tonight I heard two owls hooting at each other, scared the bejesus out of a deer (the bejesus was really scared out of both of us, and I'm pretty sure the bejesii went skipping off in another direction together), thought bears might be heading my way but it turned out to be lumbering mountain bikers, and had an entire flock of crows laugh at me for a good 1/4 mile.

They actually perched in the tree above me, looked down, and cackled. That is not the exhaustion talking. I was fairly amused.

It's clearly been a while since I hiked, because I didn't get to the relieved state of a cleared mind until the second mile. The hills usually help: a fat girl huffing and puffing up a godawfully endless steep hill gets to a don't look up, the top is too far away and you'll just quit. Just put one foot in front of the other and be fucking careful not to sprain your ankle again because NOBODY will come all the way out here and roll your ass back to the car stage. I appreciate every terrible hill in a twisted sort of self-help-inspiration way. They force me to focus on the moment. They force me to keep going because I'm too damn stubborn to go back down and it's just one more step, then one more, then one more. And suddenly it's the top and I can look back down while I catch my breath and be sort of surprised I got so far.

Tonight, the first three hills gave me Dory's irritating "just keep swimming" song instead of clarity. I know I'm evil for saying so, but I really didn't enjoy that movie. Therefore, I'm CERTAIN I've not brain-dumped the bullshit in a while.

See? There is no funny in here today, only crass bathroom humor and sleepiness.