Funny things happen when a person doesn't get enough sleep. (Not funny ha ha, funny queer.) Some people maybe get testy and impatient and bitchy and mean. And maybe a little delirious. (Insert innocent/sheepish batting of eyelashes here.)
I haven't been sleeping much the last 5 days or so and my mind is starting to wander. When you don't sleep, you don't dream and when I don't dream, my daytime mind gets muddled. There is a school of thought that says dreaming is the mind's way of untangling all the things that were left tangled up at the end of the waking day. Sometimes I think this is maybe so.
And then, with a cluttery mind, you start thinking about random stuff. Also, your writing (and speaking) becomes borderline nonsensical.
One of these days I am going to meet some other knitters in person and I am not going to feel like a lame ass for knitting in public.
My ankle still hurts a lot and I wear my brace and I'm careful with it just like I've been told to do but at night, when it is quiet and I am alone and my husband is sleeping and I am not, I cannot stop thinking about it. It makes me sort of sick thinking about it and I am now convinced that one of these days I am going to go back to the doctor and he is going to tell me it is not better and I am not sure I will be able to be stoic at that point.
Get Fuzzy is perhaps the funniest comic strip ever written.
One of these days, all of the coffee I drink is going to eat a hole in my stomach and infiltrate the rest of my organs. If I have to get a stomach transplant, I would like to request the stomach of a skinny girl.
One of these days, I am going to be one of those women who fixes her hair just so everyday and doesn't put her make-up on in the car on the way to work.
Ever since I was a little kid, I sleep best in a moving car. One of these days, I hope to have sufficient expendable income to buy a specially appointed car and then hire someone to drive me around in it all night to let me sleep. He will need a heavy coat because we will have to run the air conditioner full blast so I can snuggle up under a blanket. It occurred to me that a tour bus would be ideal for these purposes. Too bad I have a less than stellar singing voice.
I have recently fallen in love with the song I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker (With Flowers in My Hair) by Sandi Thom. I am listening to it over and over, diligently trying to find my happy place.
Wikipedia is like crack, without all the nasty side effects.
I need a new cell phone but I can't be bothered with doing the shopping and hoopla involved to get one.
One of these days, I want to pack a bag with sufficient clothes, knitting, etc. for a week or 10 days away from home and I want to drive to the airport and fly somewhere. I just want to walk in and look at all the departing flights and pick one. I'll just walk up to the ticket counter and plunk down the cash (or the credit card or traveler's checks - whatever, the payment method is irrelevant). I will call someone - my mother, probably - to let them know I am going and not to worry, I am fine, I will be back in 10 days. Then I will walk calmly to the (most likely) international terminal and I will wait for my plane and I will spontaneously go somewhere and have a wonderful time and then I will come home all happy and refreshed and brimming with fancy stories and hundreds of pictures. I will have plenty to blog about when I get back.
Lori says I have weird ambitions.
What do you want to do one of these days?
“The ninety and nine are with dreams content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.” -Edgar Allan Poe