Sometimes I feel like I overthink this whole blog thing. I sit here in front of the computer and suddenly Deep Thoughts and Big Goals and Profound Truths fill my mind, and one of two things happens: I either write some deep-thinking post or I click on “Customize Your Blog” and spend four hours looking at new blog designs. Today, I’m changing things up: you are just going to get a little free association and a look at my actual life right now.
I’m sitting at my dining room table with a dog trying to jump on the table and a cat sitting on my shoulder. I use the word “sitting” loosely, since the cat is currently sliding off but won’t let go of my t-shirt. Yesterday, I had short sleeves on, and when she wouldn’t let go it left a large puncture wound in my arm which I did not cleanse in any way.
I just sent the dog downstairs to the basement where Q and David are watching House. This was after I yelled down the stairs, “Did anyone feed the dog tonight?” I’ll let you guess both the answer to that and the answer to why he was trying to get up on the table. Yes, I fed him before I sent him down.
I have a box of Christmas cards on the table beside me. I really need to get on those cards, since I have sent out exactly 10 so far this year. I sent them to the people who had sent me cards this year, for two reasons: 1) as a prize for not kicking me off their card list after not receiving a card from me since 2007 and 2) because I still have the envelopes handy and I don’t have to look up their addresses.
The “box of Christmas cards” I refer to is not the kind of little box-with-a-plastic-lid that you get cards in at the stationery store. No, it is a cardboard box filled with the equivalent of about twelve of those store boxes. Many of these cards have been here in this cardboard box for years. I know this because there are some with return address stickers that say “Our New Address” (we moved here in 2005) and others that are handily pre-stamped with 34 cents worth of postage. The awesome thing about this is that they were originally stamped with 33 cents; the other 1-cent stamp was added later, some other year that I was so sure I’d send them that I invested additional time and money. I thought about Googling what years those would have been but decided I was mortified enough already. Feel free to do the research and let me know.
The cat is now off my shoulder and patrolling around my laptop meowing at the top of her lungs. Every second sentence I have to lean first to the left and then to the right to see the screen as she paces around and around, over my arms, between my body and the screen. It is close to her bedtime and she wants to be put to sleep. (Not literally.) We used to have to tuck her in with us and cuddle her to sleep; now we just put her in the garage with her sister, her litter box, and a bowl of food. I’m quite sure she doesn’t like it as well, but at least we get a better night’s sleep because we don’t have to listen to her when she decides she is hungry at 3 and 4 and 5 AM.
I’m very close to going to bed myself. I have a long bedtime routine going right now. Not the standard stereotypical female routine of face-washing and makeup-removing and moisturizing, because I don’t actually do any of those things and will probably look a million years old by the time I am 60. No, my routine involves the following:
- Change into pajamas. Hopefully remember to take medicine and brush teeth.
- Climb into bed and surround myself with the seven books I am currently reading a little bit of each day, the two different notebooks I am using to take notes on those books, and the two little one-line-a-day journals I have decided I am definitely going to write in every single day this year. (One was a Christmas present; the other is the one I got for Christmas last year, which I used for exactly six days. I use the word “present” loosely, because I buy most of my own Christmas gifts and label them To: Lori — From: Santa.)
- Decide I am so exhausted that I cannot keep my eyes open another minute; arrange all the books and notebooks on the floor around my bed.
- Pick up my phone to set the alarm. Contemplate getting up really early to go running at the track. Weigh that against sleeping until the last possible minute. Set the alarm in between those times, since I know Quinland will holler up the stairs asking for a ride to school right at 7:30 so I ought to give myself 5 minutes to pull on sweats.
- Decide I have just enough energy to play one game of Ticket to Ride, since it only takes six minutes. Play two games.
- Decide to check Twitter, because the Irish and English girls on Twitter are eight hours ahead of me and have all the latest Hudson Taylor news, which is essential for a sound sleep. Get distracted by Blazer news and Life Hacks and Pictures From History.
- Decide I am absolutely going to bed. Now.
- Remember that I have to wear the CPAP machine so I don’t wake David up with the snoring and also to prevent heart attacks. Decide to read a tiny bit of Jane Austen fan fiction to distract myself from the wind-tunnel feeling of the mask.
- Completely lose all sense and all track of time while reading a story about how Kitty comes to visit Lizzy and Darcy at Pemberley and falls in love with the local vicar.
- Jump out of my skin when David rolls over and whines, “GO to BED! Do you know what time it is?!”
- Pull the covers over my head to block the light so I can at least get to the bottom of the page, then sneak phone onto side table, try to arrange my legs around the dog, and fall asleep.
I’m off to put those plans into action. Good night, all!